


Fox Hunt

by orphan_account



Category: Real Ghostbusters, Riptide (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>by Sheila Paulson</p><p>Originally published in Ouch 3</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fox Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> by Sheila Paulson
> 
> Originally published in Ouch 3

**FOX HUNT**

by Sheila Paulson

Originally published in Ouch 3

  


The ghost was more human than most in appearance, much as he had  
appeared in life, tall, hair caught midway between carroty red and rusty  
grey as if he'd been out in the rain too long. A boyish cast still clung  
to the face though the spirit in question had been older than he seemed;  
there were lines around the eyes that had been placed there by laughter,  
good lines, but too many for him to have been a boy when he died. One  
pant leg was pinned up at the knee, but in his spirit form, the loss of  
the limb didn't hinder him because he hovered a few inches above the  
ground. He wore a white shirt, and the front of it was torn by bullet  
holes and stained with blood. That it was a ghostly shirt and ghostly  
blood didn't make him appear any less ghastly. Spotting him, Slimer let  
out a shriek, shrank himself down, and vanished into the popcorn bowl in  
a vain attempt to find courage there.

At the sight of him, Winston jerked as if he'd been sucker-punched. It wasn't usual for a spirit to pop in at Ghostbuster Central. Usually the team had to be summoned out to bust them, but tonight, as they sat around the TV watching a Knicks' game, eating popcorn, their little ghostly mascot, Slimer, had suddenly given a shriek that would bend metal and disappeared into the popcorn. The spirit had materialized slowly, assuming form and feature, allowing time for the four Ghostbusters to race madly for their proton packs, to power up and level throwers at the invader. That was when Winston saw the invading spirit clearly.

"Winston, you dropped your thrower," Ray cried in alarm, and Peter moved sideways to cover him until he could retrieve it.

"Get ready, he's going to move," cautioned Egon practically, aiming his P.K.E. meter at the specter to take readings. "Hmm. Class three, just as he appears. Trapping it won't be difficult."

"No, wait, guys," Winston blurted, eyes huge with shock. He jumped between his buddies and the ghost, arms outstretched to keep them from firing.

"Let me guess. You know him," Peter ventured. It didn't take much of a leap to make that connection; sure the ghost was a surprise but Winston's face was shadowed like a man taking part in a nightmare, and he wasn't the type to panic at a spirit invasion, at least not at a simple class three. "Don't you?"

"Doug Hemphill," Winston breathed in stunned surprise. "My god, it's Hemphill."

"Winston." The spirit's voice didn't sound ghostly, just thinner than the voice of a normal, living man. He knew where he was and whom he was facing. His visit to Ghostbuster Central was deliberate.

"Doug, buddy." Winston shivered, then he controlled himself and took a step closer to the spirit while the other three spread out behind him to cover him in case the ghost's intentions were less than honorable. "What brings you here, m'man?"

Intrigued, Egon took additional readings, and Ray leaned closer, ready to be sympathetic. Peter edged in at Winston's side, his thrower gripped firmly at ready. Just because Winston had known this one when he was still alive didn't mean he wasn't here for mischief.

"Reynard," Hemphill's ghost said as if announcing the end of the world. "He's back."

Winston blinked. "That guy in the jungle?" he blurted, stunned. "The one who shot that reporter--what was his name? Markham? You saw him again?"

"He killed me, Winston. I think he wants to kill us all. Everybody thinks it was just a drive-by shooting. But just before he fired, I saw his face and he had that same cold expression as when he killed the reporter. It wasn't personal; I was in his way. He took me out the way most people swat a fly. He was older, of course, but I recognized him, that icy glint in his eyes. He nodded at me as he fired, then he held up his hand and made a chalk-mark in the air. He was saying, 'That's one.' I know he was. He's gonna try to kill all five of us. I had to warn you. I had to."

"Shit, shit, shit," groaned Winston. "You mean he's going to come after all of us?"

"You were the only one I knew how to find," Hemphill said. "I've seen you on TV and in magazines. When it dawned on me I was...dead...I had to come here. I think it's only been a day or two, but it's hard to be sure. I knew where to find you so I came here."

"So how'd you get here, man?" Winston asked.

"I don't know. I...couldn't rest. It tore at me, knowing he'd tracked me down and finished me after all that time. And knowing the rest of you might be in trouble, too. I concentrated as hard as I could, and then I was here. Just like that." He shrugged wryly as he must have done in life.

"Typical. A task left unfinished," Egon murmured in an aside to Peter, who nodded. It often worked that way. Ghosts of Hemphill's type stayed behind because of a strong purpose, a responsibility only the spirit could discharge. Once the task was completed or the problem resolved, such entities usually dispersed peacefully. But Hemphill's face remained troubled.

"I didn't know where the others were, but I knew how to find you," he said. "Zed, you've gotta warn them. You've gotta find them, tell them, let them know. None of you would expect him any more than I did. You can be on the lookout for him, stop him."

"Easy, buddy, I'll tell them," Winston soothed. "I know where two of them are. I ran into Allen and Ryder last year out in California. We were out there for a paranormal conference and they showed up because their other partner likes that kind of thing. "I'll call them now, warn them."

"You have to, Zed. You have to warn them all. What about the other one, Hawke?"

"Now that's gonna be tougher, Doug." Winston's face was grave. "Far as I know he was MIA when the war ended. Still is."

"But it's 1987," Doug insisted.

"I know, man. There's still guys missing. Only good thing, he's safe from Reynard."

Doug shook his head. "Unless Reynard took him out him over there and that's why he didn't come home."

Winston nodded. "I always wondered. Ryder and Allen are private eyes out in California. That means they already know how to watch their backs. It's all right, Doug. You warned me and I'll warn them. I'll see if I can find out anything from the military on Hawke. An old army buddy of mine works at the Pentagon. I'll give him a call. But I know where Nick and Cody are. I have their address."

"And we'll watch Winston's," Ray insisted with stubborn determination. "This Reynard guy--he never went up against the Ghostbusters. He tries to take us on, he'll have a nasty surprise."

"He just gunned me down in cold blood, no hesitation," Doug said, touching his blood-spattered chest. "They found out the car was stolen, but it turned up burned to a cinder, in a salvage yard in St. Paul. No clues. He's good; he's not afraid, and he doesn't leave loose ends. That's why he killed that Markham, remember, because the reporter had something on him. Reynard didn't hesitate. I used to dream about that moment for years, when we saw him take that bullet between the eyes. Hawke said Reynard was like a jungle phantom, remember?"

"Well, he doesn't know _this_ jungle like I do," Winston countered, with a gesture to encompass all of New York. "We'll stop him, Doug. I give you my word on it."

"And you'll tell Allen and Ryder?"

"I'll call them now."

"Don't let him kill again," Hemphill pleaded, stretching out a ghostly hand toward Winston.

"I won't."

The spirit shivered then, abruptly, he was no longer there. No fade out, no shimmering into transparency. He simply disappeared. Not one of the Ghostbusters thought he'd dispersed peacefully. He wouldn't rest until Reynard was gone. Peter shivered slightly. Reynard did _not_ sound like the kind of company he wanted to have drop in.

"Oh man," groaned Winston, dropping down on the back of the couch, his mouth drawn tight in a grim line. "Oh, man. This is not good. Not good at all."

"Who is Reynard, Winston?" Egon asked.

"A behind-the-lines black market king," Winston said. "Maybe worse. Hawke said he was selling secrets, even peddling flesh. He had a counterpart, they said, on the other side, and they were profiteering, making major bucks out of the war. We don't know exactly what he was up to, but none of it was good. Hawke said he thought the guy was covert ops gone bad, only nobody knew he'd gone bad. But then I think Hawke was covert ops himself. He'd been a POW, considered MIA for a couple of years before we ran into him. The day we ran into Reynard."

Peter sat beside him and clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder, worried because Winston's muscles were rigid as steel beneath his comforting hand. "You want to tell us about it, buddy? Sounds like old trouble is coming home to roost, and we need to know all we can so we can protect you."

"Reynard is like a ghost himself," Winston replied, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Man, I used to have nightmares about him, too, about the cold, hard look in his eyes when he shot down Markham in cold blood right in front of us. He didn't hesitate. He didn't even telegraph what he was gonna do. He was so cold; just brought up the gun and shot him without a second's hesitation. And when he saw us...." Even after fourteen years, Winston couldn't repress the shiver that shook his frame.

"Tell us from the beginning, Winston," urged Ray. "Then we can call those other two guys and warn them."

"Okay. It was early in 1973. What happened is that I was out on recon with my squad in the bush out of Bien Hoa; we ran full tilt into a firefight that went wrong and I was separated from the rest of my unit. Trying to work my way back to my lines I walked right into half a dozen Charlies--North Vietnamese troops. They grabbed me." His voice trailed off.

"You never said you were a prisoner of war." Egon pulled up the nearest chair and sat facing them, pushing his glasses into place and eyeing Winston with great concern. The tension in the room escalated dramatically.

"That's 'cause I wasn't really, or only for a couple of hours," Winston replied, brushing aside that particular aspect to deny even that much had happened. "The Cong didn't have time to play any of their nasty little games on me other than whacking me with a rifle butt a couple of times to make sure I wasn't too happy with the idea of running. They took me to a temporary camp, along with three other guys they picked up. One was Hemphill, a green kid from a little town in Minnesota, a real newby, still wet behind the ears, didn't look a day over sixteen--then there were, a couple of Louies, Nick Ryder and Cody Allen--you remember, those two guys I met when we were out last year to L.A. for that convention, the one where Egon met those twin blondes and Pete's old buddy McCormick hired us to bust that ghost."

Peter vaguely remembered Nick's two friends, guys that resembled beach bums, though he'd envied the tans they had. "You said they were private detectives?" he prompted.

"Still are, last I heard. Cody sent me a Christmas card." He hesitated, then returned to the story. "Ryder was a Huey pilot, ran into trouble at an LZ. The two of them were already buddies then. Anyway, the four of us were herded into a temporary camp, way remote in the bush. They had a prisoner already, guy name of Hawke--never did find out his first name. He'd been a POW before, but he'd escaped and even if he never said, I think he was working covert ops in the jungle, maybe even breaking out other guys, or going after creeps like Reynard. I think he had to be a spook; he clammed up the minute any of us tried to find out about him. Anyway, the guys that grabbed us weren't very organized and Hawke broke us out of there. We didn't have any weapons other than a bone knife he'd carved for himself and a bola he made once we were away from the transit camp, but he knew the jungle better than the rest of us--he'd been in country a long time--and we made good progress toward our lines. We knew Charlie was after us, so we took to ducking into shelter whenever we heard anyone coming. We weren't in very great shape; Doug had been hit over the head with a rifle butt and was half out of it, Allen had a scrape down one arm that had bled a lot, Hawke looked like one of those poster refugee kids, thin as a rail, huge eyes, and I'd twisted my ankle, though I could still run.

"We heard movement on the trail so we went for cover behind a fallen tree. It was one guy; a reporter, though what he was doing out there on his own was anybody's guess, maybe he'd been separated like I had or maybe he had a lead and snuck away to track it down. Allen knew who he was; his name was Ethan Markham, a hot-shot freelance type, came from a rich family in New England and bought his way into a lot of situations to get his stories. He was expecting somebody. We were just about to go out and confront him when up pops Reynard. I've gotta tell you, I had never met anybody made my blood run cold just seeing him before, but I felt it then. I'd met killers; some guys over there got hung up on the killing, bought into it, even liked it, kept a tally of how many 'Gooks' they personally wasted, but this guy wasn't like that. It was like he was utterly indifferent to it. He didn't keep score, not really. But I wouldn't have trusted him. The minute I saw him, I tried to dig myself under that fallen tree and hope I could keep my heart from thumping loud enough for him to hear it." He gazed around at his three teammates. "It's not that I never saw anybody nasty before; I ran into drug dealers a time or two out there, even hot shot kids in my old neighborhood, didn't care what messes they got into. Amoral types, some of 'em. They didn't care about anybody but themselves. But this guy was in a class by himself. Maybe a terrorist would feel like him, or a mercenary. I don't know. But out there in that jungle with the heat and humidity pushing 100, it felt like a load of ice had been dumped down my back.

"We all felt it, all five of us. You say since there were five of us we could have taken him on, but we didn't know what was going down. And he was armed. He had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder on a strap, a Colt in a holster on his hip, and a Bowie knife in his belt. And another gun, we didn't see right away. A little thing, not Army reg. Hawke thought about using the bola, but the guys was American; he had on parts of a uniform--we didn't have any reason to think he was a threat to us, other than that feeling we all had that he was trouble."

"Then what happened," Peter prodded when Winston fell silent.

"Then Markham said, 'I know all about it, Reynard. And so will everybody else. You're washed up.'

"And Markham purred, 'You think so?' just as smooth as silk. I can still remember how his voice sounded, the way it made me shiver because I could almost see it coming, what was about to happen. Hawke could tell too. He grabbed Nick's shoulder to keep him down--Nick was the most hotheaded of us and he had the same feeling I did and was all gung ho to intervene. And I _knew_ we couldn't do anything. We didn't have guns, most of us were banged up if not actually wounded. Hawke pulled out the bola but there wasn't time to use it.

"What bugged me was Reynard's body language. He didn't give any sign what he was going to do, but there was a wary caution about him that didn't leave the outcome in any doubt.

"Markham said, 'It's too late, Reynard, and you know it.'

"'Yes, I know it.' And before we could do anything, he pulled his hand up and shot the photographer right between the eyes, so fast Markam barely saw it coming. He fell right over, and Reynard holstered the gun and stood there listening. I think all five of us held our breath.

"The whole jungle held its breath; birds and insects went quiet, and that's when we heard distant shouts and knew Charlie was coming. Reynard heard, too, and he turned and went down the trail the way he'd come. He didn't even hurry.

"And then Doug moved and he hit a branch that cracked as loud as the gun had. Reynard turned around and he saw us. He stood there staring at us all, and then he started toward us, already raising one of his guns. If it weren't for the VC coming over the rise and taking potshots at him, he'd have killed us where we lay. Hawke threw the bola and it hit Reynard's arm, but he grabbed the AK-47 anyway. But he didn't have time to waste us. Instead he pointed at us, and it was like he was saying, 'you're next.' Then he ran, and we ran in the opposite direction. Hawke led the way; he knew the jungle best, but in the one-sided fire fight that followed, we were separated. Hemphill took a shot to the leg just below the knee; it was bad; he couldn't run. I did what I could for him and then I carried him the rest of the way. Hawke decoyed them away from us, and we lost Ryder and Allen in the process. They went one way, I went another. Hawke just disappeared into the jungle. I think maybe they grabbed him again." He shivered. "God, I was just a green kid myself, just turned eighteen. I always thought I was tough, but I was so scared I all but kissed the first troops I saw." He shivered. "Doug wound up losing his leg below the knee, and I spent the next three days trying to explain to anybody who would listen what happened out there.

"They kept telling me they'd deal with it, but I had the feeling they just wanted me to shut up and drop it. They did tell me Cody and Nick had made it out but they said I couldn't have seen Hawke--denied there was anybody who matched the name in the entire region. They said the only Hawke they knew of was dead and had been dead a long time. So I figured he was working for them undercover. Maybe he was even after Reynard. He might have gone after him and wound up like Markham, I don't know."

"What did you find out about this Reynard?" Ray asked, his eyes wide.

"Not much, and not from any officer, let me tell you. But some of the guys had heard rumors about this character, they called him the Jungle Fox, you know, Reynard means 'fox' in French. They said he was out there and he could take on a whole squad and walk away without a scratch. They said he was selling people into slavery. For everything they thought they knew, they had a dozen rumors each one wilder than the next. The feeling I had was that it was a lot safer to pretend it never happened, but I started watching my back every minute of the day, even in the shower. Just as well. One day a zapper sneaked into camp under cover of a shelling, and nearly took out the whole command post."

"Zapper?" asked Peter.

"Guy with a lot of explosives strapped to his body. They'd try to work their way in when there was a lot of shooting going down and everybody was dug into cover; and unless they were wasted or hurt too bad to move, they'd just keep going until they reached where they were headed--usually the headquarters--and then they'd blow it up, and themselves along with it. Like Kamikaze only they came in on foot. Anyway, I was in the shower when the attack started; most of the other guys just went for cover, but I grabbed my gun first; it'd be crazy not to. I was half afraid Reynard would come in under cover, so I saw the zapper when nobody else did, and I...took him down." He grimaced. "Never liked killing, but it was the only way." Disgust filled his face. "I was given a medal for it. Man, I hate that, being rewarded for killing."

"It was war, Winston. You had to," Peter soothed.

He shrugged. "Doesn't make it right. Just because it's necessary doesn't ever make it right."

"No, but there are times when you have no choice," Egon told him with quiet understanding. "And I'd far rather have a man like you defending us, a man with a conscience, than those men you told us about who kept score."

"Did you ever seen Reynard again?" Ray asked quickly, sensing Winston's discomfort with the whole subject. This was the most he'd ever talked about his Vietnam experience.

"No, never did. When I bumped into Nick and Cody last year, I asked them if they had. Turns out they'd been fed the same run-around I was. Cody wondered if the brass didn't know what a scumbag Reynard was but they covered for him because he was useful to them. Could have been. All I know is, nobody ever went after him--officially. And Hawke is probably still MIA, unless Reynard killed him like he did Markham. If his name was even Hawke. Maybe it was another code name." He shivered, then collected himself. "Don't know why Reynard would decide he wanted to take us down after all this time."

"Maybe he ran into Hemphill by accident," Peter theorized. "You know, lives in the same town; gonna run for office and knew once his face was before the public eye, Doug would spot him and sound the alarm."

"That could very well be, Peter," Egon returned. "After all this time, he must have something to lose for him to take the risk. Even if it's not as much risk for him as it would for the usual man in the street. Winston, call your friends in California. Maybe they would have theories."

"Okay." Winston started for the phone. Slimer popped up out of the bowl, leaving it empty of all but ectoplasm, and Peter noticed, muttering to himself.

*****

"Oh, man, I am so bushed," muttered Nick Ryder, flinging himself down at the table on the Riptide, his partner Cody Allen's boat. How many nights in a row did we pull those stupid stake-outs?"

"Six," said Murray Bozinsky, taking Nick's question literally. "It's a good thing the Roboz picked up that conversation or Mitchell and his men would have gotten away. When you jumped Mitchell, I was sure he was gonna blast you."

"No lie," Cody Allen agreed. "You want to give me heart failure, Nick, that was a good way to do it. I don't even want to _think_ about how close you came."

Nick shivered reminiscently. "Tell me about it. I _felt_ that bullet go past. It went right through my hair."

"We thought they'd blasted you, Nick," Murray put in.

"Yeah, and Lt. Parisi just about went right through _you_ ," Nick remarked, probably in an attempt to change the subject from his reckless maneuver and to distract the other two from the worry at the near miss. The faint amusement of his tone suggested the fact that Lt. Quinlan's replacement had always shown a soft spot for Cody. She was a real change from Lt. Quinlan, their former nemesis at King Harbor PD.

Cody ignored that as beside the point. "She should have read _you_ the riot act." Cody had seen the near miss and for a second, when Nick dropped, he'd thought his friend had been hit in the head. It had been _way_ too close.

"I never saw her so steamed," Murray said with a reminiscent smile. "She must have been worried about you, Cody."

"About all of us," said Cody quickly. "She's engaged, guys, remember?"

"Well, we did it, we bagged the guys, and she didn't have a leg to stand on." Nick headed for the refrigerator to pull out a can of beer. "Guys?"

Murray shook his head, opting for a soda, but Cody took one and popped the top. It would be good relax, put their feet up, and unwind. This one had been way too close for any of them. He had just taken a long swallow when the telephone rang. Closest to it, he reached for it. "Hope it's not a new case, I could use a break," he said. "Hello?"

"Cody? That you?" The voice was vaguely familiar but he couldn't put a name to it.

"Yes, this is Cody."

"This is Winston Zeddemore, calling from New York."

"Hey, Zed," exclaimed Cody in surprise. "Nick, it's Winston. You met him last year, remember, Mur."

"Boss," exclaimed Murray, who had developed a fascination for the Ghostbusters when they had visited Los Angeles and had driven Cody and Nick nuts for weeks afterwards with theories on how the Riptide detectives might bust ghosts in between busting bad guys. "Are they in town?"

"We have a problem, Cody," Winston's voice was grave, then he said something that sent a chill down Cody's back despite the warmth of the Southern California night. "Reynard's back."

Cody hesitated for just an instant, a certain day in the jungle leaping vividly into his recollection. He hadn't thought about Reynard in years, except for the conversation with Winston at the paranormal conference. He hadn't thought of any consequences of that incident carrying over into his real life, but Zeddemore's tone sent an uneasy flutter going in Cody's stomach.

"What's wrong?" Nick abandoned his beer and came over to stand in front of Cody, alert, as he always was, to Allen's moods. His face was expressive as he raised a questioning eyebrow.

Gesturing for silence, Cody spoke quickly. "Did you see him? What happened?" He spared a reassuring grin for Nick, but how reassuring could it be? From Nick's expression it was clear he wasn't reassured.

Zeddemore sighed. "He killed Doug Hemphill. Shot him down in cold blood. Just a couple of days ago."

"My god," Cody breathed. He opened his mouth to say, 'You're kidding,' then closed it over the words. People didn't kid about things like that. "How do you know? Did they catch him?"

"Doug told us tonight," Winston replied.

At that unlikely answer, Cody held the receiver away from his ear and stared at it, not quite sure he'd heard Winston correctly.

"What's going on?" Murray fussed. He'd caught the tension in Cody's arrested pose and shocked face as surely as Nick had.

"What do you mean, tonight?" Cody demanded. "I thought you said he died two days..." His voice trailed off as it dawned on him what the answer would be. Winston Zeddemore was a Ghostbuster. His job brought him into contact with ghosts on a daily basis, or so he'd claimed. Cody had trouble with that in spite of the one ghostly encounter he'd had with Martin Stonewall. Nick didn't believe, even now, that he had been a real ghost, and Cody wasn't sure, though Murray would have sworn an oath in court on a stack of bibles that his friend had been from the spirit realm. For such a brilliant scientist, there was an edge of gung-ho gullibility in Murray that time and a number of crises had never been able to crush.

"His ghost came here," Winston explained. "Come on, Cody, don't freeze up on me. It does happen. I thought like you did before I was hired for this job. Didn't believe in anything I couldn't see, hear, taste, or touch. Well, I've seen ghosts, heard em, been touched by nasty things that almost make Reynard look tame. But this time it was just a simple routine ghost. Doug Hemphill. He came to me because he knew where I was. And he was a ghost because he couldn't let it go. The Fox blasted him just like he blasted that reporter in the jungle, and Doug thought he would come after us next."

"My god, why? After all this time?" Cody slid over the ghostly part. He could deal with that later. But if Hemphill was really dead--they could check that. Murray could find answers with the computer. But why? After so long, what would be the reason for it? Witnesses to a crime that had happened in the heart of a war, Cody had always felt there was more to the story than they'd seen. But after he and Nick had left active service and nothing had ever come of it, he'd forgotten the incident. They'd talked to the authorities at the time, done all they could. Cody had even tracked down Markham's wife when he returned home and told her about his death. That had been a hard one, but he'd known Markham in passing before the war; they'd gone to the same high school though Markham had been a few years older. He couldn't let it go and Mrs. Markham deserved not to wait for years and years believing him missing.

But if Hemphill was really dead, and dead at Reynard's hand, that could mean trouble. Cody had only seen Reynard for a few minutes, but he could still call up the man's face, those ice-cold eyes. Reynard wasn't the type to leave loose ends. If he hadn't done anything about the five witnesses to the murder he committed before, it wasn't because he hadn't been able to find them. It must be because he had something to lose now. Cody didn't know what it was or understand how five guys who had mostly lost touch when the war ended could threaten one man. But he believed with all his heart and soul that Reynard was capable of tracking them down and killing them in cold blood.

"Doug didn't have any idea, and I don't either," Winston replied. "But he found Doug. Didn't come after me first, and I'm more in the public eye than any of us. Maybe that's why. Maybe he'll save me for last so as not to warn the rest of you. You have any idea what happened to Hawke?"

"Never knew his first name, but when we were debriefed, we mentioned him and nobody ever picked up on it. I wondered at the time, but never heard anything. Hard to deal with it, when all you've got is a last name stitched on a jacket."

"They told me there wasn't anybody by that name missing," Winston replied. "But they were funny about it. I figured he was a spook."

"You're probably right. God, this is a mess. Listen, Zed, let me talk it over with Nick, and I'll get back to you."

"Call when you can. Maybe we should team up."

"I'll think about it. I'll call you back tonight or tomorrow."

When he hung up he turned to face his two teammates.

"Who's dead?" Nick said. He wrapped his fingers around Cody's wrist in an attempt to offer comfort if it were a person who mattered.

"Doug Hemphill's dead, and according to Zed, Reynard killed him."

Nick's mouth dropped open and his face hardened. Murray glanced from one to the other of them. "Who's Reynard? Who's Hemphill?"

Seconded by Nick Cody explained quickly to Murray, filling him in about the incident the day they had been captured and then escaped. Boz listened, wide-eyed, shocked at the description of Reynard that Cody and Nick threw at him.

"Cold blooded as an alligator..."

"As soon blow you away as look at you..."

"...thought he was the most dangerous man I'd ever seen...."

"And he just killed that reporter guy in cold blood?" Murray burst out, horrified. Working for the Riptide Detective Agency had not begun to harden him. Such stories were always a shock.

"Shot him with as much emotion as I'd use combing my hair," Nick replied. "That guy made my blood run cold. I saw a lot of guys out there who got hardened. They'd talk about how many of the enemy they'd 'wasted' like they were keeping score, but that could be a defense mechanism. It was like a pinball game, not like shooting down real people. Only this Reynard, he didn't have one shred of, what is it, empathy. He didn't care about anybody but himself. People were like counters to him, chessmen to push around and dispose of when they got in the way."

"Nick's right," Cody told Murray. "This one is really dangerous. If Reynard's coming after us because we saw him commit murder, then we're in major trouble."

"Wait a minute," Nick interrupted. "How does Zed know Reynard killed Hemphill. If it's such a big secret he means to kill to keep it, there's no way Winston could know what happened. How would he even know Hemphill is _dead_ unless they stayed in touch?"

"Hey, yeah," agreed Murray.

Cody wasn't eager to tell that part of the story because it was the part he had trouble with himself. But Zed had always been steady and reliable, and look what line of work he was in. If anybody else had told Cody such a story he'd have dismissed it out of hand. But because it was Winston he couldn't, not entirely.

"Hemphill's ghost appeared to Winston and told him," Cody admitted.

Nick's face changed drastically. "Give me a break, man! You got us all worked up for a phony story like _that_?"

"That's really boss," Murray breathed, accepting it completely. He gave Nick a nudge with his elbow. "Come on, Nick, I saw the Ghostbusters at work when they were here last year. They're for real. This is great, a warning from beyond the grave." When Nick's face didn't change, he gave a bray of uneasy laughter. "Tell him, Cody."

"Yeah, tell me," Nick insisted. "Come on, Cody, give me a break here. Even if it was true, which I'm not gonna grant you, how would Hemphill's ghost know to find Winston?"

"Because he's famous," Murray offered. "There's always an article about the Ghostbusters--"

"In the tabloids," Nick finished. "I've seen those pictures, too, in the supermarket check-out lines. Weird blobs that look like they were created with holographic projectors. Giant marshmallow men. _Demons_. Give me a _break_."

"Yeah, and you've seen Nancy Reagan shaking hands with aliens there, too, and she's still first lady," Murray pointed out. "Just because the tabloids run weird stories doesn't make what the guys do a fake. I've examined their equipment. It's legitimate. If anybody would know, I would."

"I give you that, Boz, but you're the most suggestible of us," Nick insisted. "And you know it. If their technology sounds right you're sure to believe."

Murray's face hardened slightly. "I'm not stupid, Nick. I know about computer equipment and that kind of stuff. I had them send me the specs and I went over it all. It's not designed to make fake light shows. It really is designed to do what they claim it does--detect ectoplasmic residue. I made a gizmo like one of their P.K.E. meters with a few modifications I dreamed up. It's boss. It really works." He caught Cody's eye and then continued. "I know you're a skeptic, Nick, but think of this. Just because you don't like the way the story came to us, you can't disregard it because if there's even one chance in a thousand it's true, you and Cody are in danger."

"He's right, Nick," Cody said. He reached out and clapped his friend on the arm. "I want to be a skeptic, too. I saw those same tabloid stories you did and I think they're ridiculous, just like you do. But Zed's not the guy to feed us a load of B.S. If he's right, then Hemphill probably warned him from beyond the grave because he knew where to find Winston. He didn't know where we were."

"So if Winston's in the public eye, why didn't Reynard take him out first?" Nick challenged. He still wasn't buying it but he was thinking, and that was a good sign.

"I think he'd take Winston out last," Cody said and realized he'd worked it out in his mind. "If he hits Winston first, the rest of us might have seen it in the papers and became suspicious. I think he took out Doug first because he'd checked it out and found out that Doug was the easiest to take out. We're private eyes and Winston's a minor celebrity."

"Okay, I can understand that," Nick said, still grudgingly. "But why now? After nearly fifteen years? What's the point?"

"I don't know, and Winston doesn't either. Maybe we're loose ends. Maybe he has public plans that doesn't dare allow for loose ends."

Nick frowned. "All of us told the story when we were debriefed."

"And nobody believed a word of it," Cody reminded him. "Nobody did anything. I called Markham's wife when I returned home. She'd had no official notification of her husband's death. I thought about it a lot then, right before we teamed up. I figured either Reynard was a rogue agent they didn't want to admit had gone bad--or that he _hadn't_ gone bad, that he was acting under authority. Not necessarily in shooting Markham but in protecting something bigger. By that time I knew nobody was going to do anything, and there was nothing I could do, so I let it go."

"Nothing else you _could_ do, buddy," Nick said hastily. He'd realized dropping the matter had always bothered Cody. "You tried. We all did. Okay. If Reynard is back, and really means to kill us all, what do we do about it?"

"Get together with Winston?" Murray offered. "You know. So we can all watch each other's backs?"

"He's not after you, Boz," Nick told Bozinsky. "You can take off for a few days, visit your Silicon Valley pals, go somewhere safe till we nail him."

Murray was both stubborn and affronted. "No way, guys. We're a team. If you're in trouble, you might need me. I can assemble snooper equipment to help us watch out for Reynard. Set electronic traps. Besides, if he's as good as you say he is, he won't take down innocent bystanders. He'll make it look like an accident..."

"Yeah, and a bomb on the Riptide won't be selective, Murray," Cody reminded him. "He could even come on board and doctor the boat when we're not here, rig it to blow up. Set it so there's a gas buildup and we'd go up at the first spark."

The three men glanced around uneasily and Nick sniffed the air for the scent of a gas leak. Nothing. But they did a quick search of the boat that didn't turn up any evidence anyone had been there.

"What about a bomb attached to the hull," Murray said. "That happened before and we barely found it in time."

"We're sitting ducks here," Nick decided.

"Then what?" Cody asked him. "Go to New York and be sitting ducks in a strange place?"

"Go to New York and have more people to watch each other's backs," Nick replied. "Maybe they can set their ghost detectors for people and tell when anybody comes too close." He grimaced. "I don't want to believe any of this. It's too crazy. Ghosts giving warnings...."

"Then why go along with it?" Cody asked.

"Because if you're in danger, I can't ignore it," Nick said, almost angrily. "If there's any chance Winston is right, we have to take precautions. Even it we show up and Murray checks out their equipment and we find they're just one big hoax."

Cody smiled at him. "Then we'll head for New York in the morning."

"All of us," insisted Murray. "I'll start pulling my equipment together." He hurried off excitedly.

Nick looked Cody right in the eye. "You don't really buy into this, do you, Code?"

Allen shook his head. "I don't know, Nick. That's the thing. I just don't know. So I can't take the chance it's a hoax. Winston believed it."

"Ghosts," said Nick in tones of great scorn, then he shook his head and started for the phone. "I'll call the airline," he said.

Cody watched him go and smiled fondly. Whatever happened, he knew they'd face it as a team.

*****

Ray woke up with a cold. Peter had heard him sneezing in the night, but when he rolled out of bed, Ray was still in his, curled up in his blankets, his eyes puffy, his nose plugged up, the picture of abject misery.

Peter walked around his bed in a half circle. "This is _not_ a good sign," he remarked.

"I dow, Peter," Ray said thickly. "I felt okay whed I wedt to bed."

"But now you feel like the world is sitting on your chest." He shook his head. "It's all these wild parties, late hours, and fallen women, Ray. They'll catch up to you every time."

"But I dever--" Ray protested automatically, then he caught himself and grinned. "You should be id bed, Peter," he said. "You're the ode who..."

"Don't let him bug you, Ray," Egon said, coming into the bedroom, already suited up. "Peter, we have a job, so get dressed quickly. It sounds like a bad one."

"I'll get up," Ray volunteered, breaking off to sneeze six times in a row.

"No, you will stay in bed," the physicist insisted. "Winston's bringing up a giant glass of orange juice for you and your cold pills. If you're not better when we return, I'll make up my mother's cure-all for you."

"Now there's an incentive if I ever heard one," Peter called from the bathroom door. "Have you ever _tasted_ that stuff? No self-respecting virus would stick around one second longer than it had to once you drink the cure that's worse than the disease."

He heard Ray wail a protest as he closed to door and hopped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, slightly damp, but clean and shaved and dressed, Peter presented himself downstairs and discovered Janine suited up in the pink jumpsuit she'd ordered for herself after a couple of experiences in busting. "Egon says Ray can't go," she told Peter when he lifted an eyebrow at the secretary. "So I'm going. It sounds like a bad one, a demon in Central Park."

Peter grinned. "Oh well, what else can you expect. Muggers, drug dealers, gangs, all hang out in the park. Why not a demon or two? That place isn't safe."

"Not with a demon there," Winston agreed, joining them.

"Any word on that guy from Nam?" Peter asked him.

"No, but Cody and Nick were going to catch the redeye out here. They ought to be in town by ten."

"Good. Might help to have a P.I. or two to help us watch your back. You be careful today. Out on a bust's a good time for a sniper to get the drop on us. We'll be busy and there'll probably be a crowd for him to blend into."

"I thought of that," Winston said wryly. "I'm not that keen on being a target, Pete, but we have to bust this one. Maybe I can call your old pal, Inspector Frump, and borrow a bulletproof vest."

"He's no pal of mine," Peter groused, frowning at the memory of his least favorite policeman. "He'll probably cheer this Reynard on. He hates the Ghostbusters."

"He hates crime more," Egon pointed out. "Perhaps we should call him. I'll do it. He doesn't seem to hold a special grudge against me, at least no greater than he does the rest of us. If Peter calls him, we won't get anywhere. But we should report this. I'll call him as soon as we finish the bust." Winston nodded in agreement. They exchanged a worried gaze. Maybe they should have made the call last night.

They headed for Ecto, Janine jumping into the back seat beside Egon, and Winston taking the wheel, leaving Peter the coveted 'shotgun' position. He turned to Winston as soon as they backed out of the garage and headed north for the park.

"So, Winston, you hear anything from that army buddy you called, about that guy you thought might still be MIA?"

Winston shook his head. "Not a word. Course it's pretty hard to track down a guy when you don't know his first name. Still, Hawke, with an 'e' isn't the most common spelling in the world."

"More common than any of _our_ names," Peter reminded him. "Though I came upon an artist named Spengler the other day."

"No relation," Egon replied at once. "The only other Venkman I ever encountered was your father, Peter."

"We're a unique bunch." He grimaced suddenly. "Your buddies from California--they're not bringing that little Murray guy, are they? I still remember that ghost-repellent spray he had. Made me sneeze." He paused. "Hey, you don't think it would work on Slimer, do you?"

"No, Peter," Egon replied patiently. "At least I doubt Dr. Bozinsky would use it on the little spud."

"Aw..."

"I think Cody said they were all coming," Winston replied. "They thought it would be safer to send Murray away till Reynard was caught, but he wouldn't have any. Said he was part of the team."

Peter could understand that. Winston might be Reynard's only target among the Ghostbusters but the other three wouldn't let him out of their sight until the problem was resolved.

*****

The 'demon' in the park proved to be a mere class five, bigger than Slimer and spookier, but no more dangerous than the spud. He was lurking near the Shakespeare garden, but he took off like a shot at the first sign of the Ghostbusters, hovering high overhead.

"Thats not a demon," said Egon in disgust, checking his meter and then raising his eyes toward the sky. "It's only a class five."

"No, and _they_ dont think so either. They wouldn't still be here if it had been a demon." Peter gestured at the crowd that had gathered, indifferent to the threat of the big, purple creature who zipped in circles overhead. Knowing they were watching him, the psychologist waved enthusiastically, winning a smattering of applause.

"When youre _quite_ finished...." Egon said pointedly, prodding him with his elbow.

"PR, Egon. Very important," the psychologist defended himself. "Get the crowd on your side. Besides, Im hunting for this Reynard guy, too. What about it, Winston? See him?"

Zeddemore had been scanning the crowd too. "Not yet," he said wryly. "And, believe me, I've been checking. Man, bad enough I need to watch for the purple people eater up there, Ive gotta keep my eye out for this crazy sniper, too."

"Hed hardly do it in public," Janine soothed, casting a narrow eyed glare at the crowd, defying any of them to try anything. "Not with all these witnesses, anyway. Come on, lets bust this creep and head back to the firehouse."

"It _is_ kind of public, isnt it?" Peter drew his thrower and powered it up. "Lets take it down," he said in his pep rally voice, speaking loudly enough for the crowd to hear. They cheered again, enthusiastically this time, and Peter beamed. Could he get away with a bow? Maybe with the crowd, but Egon would never let him live it down.

After that he was too busy to pay attention to his fans. The ghost was quick and loved to lob balls of slime at the hapless Ghostbusters and Janine. It didnt take long for Peter to receive a healthy coating of slime, and to express his opinion of the experience vociferously.

Finally Winston managed to draw a bead on the entity, and with a, "Yahoo!" of triumph, he summoned the other three. One by one, they pinned the ghost in their streams, Janine coming in, late but determined, to put the cap on it. Winston tossed out a trap and stomped it open, and the ghost slid neatly into its containment, to the accompaniment of cheers and whistles from those of the crowd who had managed to keep up in the mad chase around the park.

Peter clasped his hands over his head, Rocky-fashion, and acknowledged the approval, eating it up. Egon took a few quick readings to make sure there were no other spirits lurking nearby, and Janine, emulating Peter without realizing it, lifted a hand to make sure her hair was in place. This left Winston to do the practical thing, and pick up the trap. As he bent over to grab its cable, two things happened so nearly simultaneously Peter didnt instantly sort them out. Janine gasped and clutched at her side, and a sharp crack of sound rang out, scarcely audible above the noise of the groupies. Peter blinked, then his eyes widened in horror as he saw the secretary stagger, blood glistening a vivid red between her pressing fingers.

"Down!" bellowed Winston, flinging himself flat; of all of them he was the only one really accustomed to being under attack from anything other than ghosts. He knew he'd just heard a weapon fire.

"Janine!" screamed a bass voice in Peter's ear as the red-haired woman collapsed in an inert heap and lay still.

Peters heart stampeded up into his throat as he saw Egon charge for her, right out in the open.

"Spengs, get down!" Peter caught himself in midair, feeling his muscles twinge at the abrupt movement, and threw himself at Egons knees in a flying tangle. Another crack of sound rang out, this time much more noticeable because the crowd had realized something was wrong and had fallen silent to draw startled breath. Recognizing the shot for what it was, people screamed and stampeded, and a police whistle shrilled. Peter felt Egon jerk and then they were down in a tangle, with people running in all directions and a siren sounding nearby.

"Egon?" Peter breathed, scared to death that the physicist had been injured, too, or worse. "Talk to me, big guy."

Egon tore himself from Peters grip and scrambled sideways like a crab to the secretarys side. "Janine." This time his voice was a hushed whisper. Peter didn't remember ever seeing him so pale.

"Winston, stay down," Peter directed urgently. It had to be Reynard, aiming at Winston in the very second hed bent over, then trying again as Peter and Egon landed in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"Hes long gone by now," Winston muttered. "Oh, man." He raised his voice and bellowed, "Anybody have a cell phone? Call 911!"

Janine lay unmoving, not even wincing when Egons hands probed the wound in her side. "Egon?" Peter asked uneasily, edging up next to him.

"Shes losing a lot of blood," Egon said without turning his attention from the unconscious woman. "Quick, give me something to use as a pad."

Winston and a police officer offered him white handkerchiefs, and he took them automatically, lifting Janines blouse to expose the wound. Peter stared at it in shocked disbelief as Egon pressed the folded handkerchiefs over the injury. This couldnt be happening.

"Theres a rescue squad on the way," a cop said, thudding up to join them. "I called it in just now. The snipers gone. Got clean away in the panic. I never saw him; I heard both shots, and looked around, but I didn't pick him out. I called in backup. Well try to find witnesses, see if anyone saw the shooter." He gestured futilely at the half dozen people remaining, now pressing closer since the danger seemed to be past. Maybe one of them had noticed Reynard.

"I'm a nurse," said a middle-aged woman, approaching and kneeling opposite Egon. "We have to try to stop the bleeding." She was trim and compact in a jogging outfit, a competence about her that relaxed Peter, if only slightly.

Winston stared down at Janine, his expression hard and bitter. Peter didn't remember an expression like that on his face before. He said, "Officer, I think I know what happened here. I'll tell you all I know." Leading the policeman a short distance away, he explained about Reynard.

Abruptly Peter discovered all the blood wasnt Janines; Egons forearm was bleeding freely from a long scratch. The physicist was completely unaware of his own wound, his face frozen in panic as he and the nurse worked on Janine. Automatically Peter scooted up beside him to help, and found himself holding the pad in place. "Keep a firm pressure, Peter," Egon directed in a voice Mr. Spock would have envied, so devoid of emotion was it. But Peter, once he was sure he had the pressure right, gazed up into Egons face and saw stark fear in the blond mans eyes. Egon's emotions were there all right, on the verge of breaking through.

"Egon, youre hurt, let somebody bandage it," Peter told him. "You cant help Janine if you keel over from loss of blood."

"Im not hurt, Peter," Egon said automatically, and it was doubtful he even realized what he was saying.

"Keep that pad in place, and I'll deal with Dr. Spengler," the nurse instructed Peter before she turned to confront the physicist. "Roll up your sleeve, young man."

Her tone was so commanding Egon obeyed automatically, revealing a long, shallow groove that was bleeding freely. "It's not serious," she said to Peter, since Egon was paying her no attention. She took a gauze pad from her purse and tore away the sterile wrapping, covering the graze and taping it into place. Then she turned her attention to Janine again, displacing Peter from his position and checking the pad. Blood was already saturating the folded handkerchiefs.

"Will she be all right?" Egon asked uneasily without raising his eyes from Janine's motionless form. Peter lifted his free hand and clasped his friend on the shoulder.

"I don't know," the nurse said, her voice sympathetic but brisk. "It will depend on the angle of the shot, what damage it did. The bullet is still in her."

Egon flinched. Freed of his responsibility Peter shifted position and draped his arm around Egon's shoulder. He couldn't tell Egon Janine would be all right; he didn't know that, not when she appeared so small and still, all the feisty spirit crushed away. But he could be here for Egon and he meant to be. At a time like this, Egon would realize how much Janine meant to him and he'd need his friends around him. Peter's eyes fell on Janine and tightened his grip. They couldn't lose her. They just couldn't. Egon sagged into the circle of his arm.

Peter lifted his eyes and studied Winston, still talking earnestly to the uniformed policeman, who was introducing him to a man in a suit, a plainclothes officer. Peter heard Winston explaining about Hemphill's ghost and saw the suit's face close away from his explanation, skepticism and doubt vivid there. Winston looked like death warmed over; his face was full of pain and blame.

"Egon, I have to help Winston," Peter said, realizing Egon needed to stay where he was. "Take care of Janine for us," and jumped to his feet. Egon made a vague, grateful gesture in his direction, glanced past Peter at Winston, and nodded, before returning his attention to the unconscious woman. He had one small hand clasped tightly in his big ones.

"If you suspected you were the target of a sniper," the plainclothesman was saying sternly as Peter joined them, "you should have called us then."

"And done what?" Peter intervened. "You guys don't like mysterious warnings from beyond the grave. You'd have said we didn't have any proof and you know it." He shot out a hand and caught Winston by the wrist. "This wasn't your fault, buddy," he insisted.

"It feels that way from where I'm standing," Winston returned, tight-lipped. "She wouldn't be hurt if not for me. If she dies...."

Peter's fingers dug urgently into Winston's flesh. "She's not going to die. She's too tough to die and you know it," he insisted, praying to a deity he didn't really believe in to make his words true. "And even if--well, no matter what, it wasn't your fault. It was this Reynard character. Did you ask to witness a murder in Vietnam? Did you ask to have a sniper take potshots? He's to blame, and that's the bottom line, right, Inspector?"

"Sergeant," the officer corrected. "Sergeant Anderson. Your friend should have called us last night."

"What would you have done last night?" Peter demanded. "Would you have assigned us an officer to cover us?"

Anderson hesitated, then he shook his head. "Probably not, not on the strength of a ghost story."

"A _ghost_ story?" exploded Peter. "A _ghost story_. Next time a demigod like Gozer comes through, we'll just go home, put up our feet and say, 'Never mind, it's only a ghost story.' Okay, never mind that. You can't pick on Winston if you wouldn't have helped anyway. What's important now is making sure it doesn't happen again."

Anderson had the grace to be abashed. "All right, yeah, we probably wouldn't have done anything last night, but now we know something's really going on, we'll take precautions. It might just be a lunatic; the city has enough of them."

"This one's after me," Winston said. "And now Janine's hurt. I'm endangering my friends. If I take off, I'll draw Reynard after me. The rest of you would be safe."

"The hell you'll take off," Peter began only to be interrupted.

"Sarge, nobody saw anything," another plainclothes officer approached. "They all saw the lady hit, and some of them even heard the shots, but nobody saw anything. A couple of people claim they saw things, but the stories are too wild. One said there was a man up a tree, but there wasn't time for the sniper to come down before Nimzicki and his partner arrived on the scene." He gestured at the uniformed policeman, who had moved aside to hold back the crowd that had gathered avidly around Egon and Janine. "One witness says it was a man in a ski mask but nobody else saw this guy. It's warm enough out that a clown in a ski mask would have been noticed right away and taken for a mugger. No, whoever did it blended in."

The rescue unit arrived then, and Peter drifted back to Egon, pulling him away so the EMTs could work. "Hang in there, Spengs," he said gently as Egon resisted, then finally saw the sense of Peter's action and allowed it.

"I never dreamed Janine would be hurt like this," Egon told Peter desperately as if his words could make it untrue. He was still in shock.

"None of us did or we wouldn't have brought her," Peter said. "He wasn't aiming for her. He won't try to hurt her again."

That made Egon stare at him as his mind added up the clues he'd seen all along and hadn't considered until then. "Winston! He was aiming for Winston."

"Sorry, m'man," Winston said in an undertone, avoiding Egon's gaze.

"Sorry?" Egon's voice rose sharply. "Is that all you can say."

"Man, don't you think I know it's my fault?" Winston demanded.

"That doesn't help Janine," Egon snapped angrily.

"Hey, hey," cried Peter, stepping between them hastily "Easy, guys. It's okay. It's Reynard's fault. Bottom line. It's not Winston's, it's not ours for bringing her. Come on, Egon, you know that. So do you, Winston.

Egon had already caught himself. He was too fair a man, even in crisis, to continue in this line. "I'm sorry, Winston," the physicist said, meeting the other man's eyes. "My words were completely unconscionable. I know it was Reynard's fault, not yours." He held out his hand to Winston.

The black man stared at it, then he clasped it. "Egon, I know it's my fault," he said. "You can't reproach me more than I'm reproaching myself right now. Anderson's right, I should have called in last night. Guess I just thought they'd think me crazy, especially after Cody's reaction."

"They know now," Peter said quickly. "That's what counts. They can give you protection and find out about Reynard. He's doing this to keep something quiet. If we can expose him, there'll be no need to come after you."

"Except maybe revenge," Winston growled. "Man, this sucks. Janine wouldn't be..."

Egon turned and watched them loading Janine into the ambulance. "I'll go with her," he said, and turned quickly.

Winston took a step to follow, but Peter caught his arm and retrained him, watching Egon hurry toward the ambulance, understanding in his face, and squashing down his own worry for Janine; he could deal with that after he'd reassured Winston. "Let him. He needs to be with her. He knows how much she loves him. Right now, you're not the only one feeling guilty."

Winston stared after Egon as he climbed in beside Janine, dawning realization on his face. "You mean because he didn't love her back?"

"He does love her, he always has," Peter said with sure knowledge. "I mean because he's not in love with her, not like she is with him. He might be one day but he isn't now. And if she dies..." He couldn't complete the sentence. Janine was such an integral part to all their lives he couldn't imagine a life without her in it. She was the sister he'd never had, and in spite of all their spats, he loved her, too.

Winston nodded vaguely. The subject of love was not one either of them, or any man, felt comfortable discussing but he seemed to understand what Peter was saying. Peter heaved a sigh. He was scared, not only that Janine might die but what it would do to Egon, and to Winston, if they lost her. Egon understood rationally that it wasn't Winston's fault, but if Janine died, he wouldn't _be_ rational about it. Neither would Winston. Peter, too, would be devastated, but his would be normal grief. Winston couldn't help blaming himself for it, and Egon might blame him too. This could tear the whole team apart.

"Come on, let's go to the hospital," Peter urged.

"What about Ray?"

Peter hesitated. Ray had as much right to be there as they did, but Ray was sick, though not so sick he'd stay away if he thought Janine needed him. "We'd better not bring him to the hospital," Peter said. "They'd never risk letting him see her right now; he could be infectious. But we have to tell him." He wanted to wait until they had news, preferably good news, but that wasn't fair to Ray.

Winston squared his shoulders. "I'd better go over and tell him," he said.

"That's a good idea," Anderson said. "If this sniper's trailing you, I don't want him showing up at the hospital. We can watch your headquarters a lot easier. I'm going to assign a couple of uniformed men to you. First I want you to come to the precinct. I want you to tell this to my Lieutenant, make a statement."

"Go ahead, Winston," Peter urged. "We can't take any chances with innocent lives."

Winston flinched, and Peter spread his hands in apology. "It's okay, Winston," he said. "You go make your statement then go home and tell Ray. I'll call him from the hospital, so he won't have to hear it on the news."

"Thanks, Pete," Winston said gratefully and went with Anderson, his shoulders bowed with the weight of a responsibility not really his. Peter stared after him, knowing he couldn't help all his friends today, and headed for Ecto.

He found Egon in a waiting room, distraught, his hair standing up at odd angles, his face full of shadows. When Peter came in, he rushed to meet him. "They won't let me see her, Peter."

"No, they're busy taking care of her right now. You have to let them. Come on, let's sit down." He guided Egon over to the ugliest Naugahyde sofa he'd ever seen and urged him down, but the minute he sat beside the shaken physicist, Egon bobbed up again. 

"There must be something we can do."

Peter grabbed his arm and hauled him down again. "Come on, Egon, sit. Stay."

"I'm not a trained dog," Egon retorted before sinking into lethargy again.

"They're doing everything they can for her," Peter assured him. "Waiting's tough as hell. We've all done it, way too often."

"But we knew the risks," Egon replied.

"So did Janine," Peter reminded him, though it was no consolation. "She's been on busts before. She's even done the waiting room routine. And she knew about Reynard. She wouldn't thank you for protecting her, and you know it."

"It's just--she looked so...." His voice trailed off.

"I know," admitted Peter quietly. "I'm scared too."

That made Egon gaze up at his friend, his eyes full of pain. "What are we going to do, Peter?" he asked with helpless desperation.

"We be here for her," Peter said, at a loss himself. "And we wait."

*****

"Oh, man, whoever decided we fly the redeye should be shot," Nick Ryder groaned as he staggered off the plane at LaGuardia International Airport.

"It was the quickest flight," Cody defended himself. If truth were told, he didn't feel any livelier than Nick did. It was seven-fifteen in the morning, but that was California time. They'd all slept on the plane, but Cody and Nick had not slept well, and not consistently. Murray had probably slept the best, but the computer expert could sleep anywhere. He appeared bright and eager now, eyes wide as he glanced around the airport. One of the windows on the concourse gave a view of the distant Manhattan skyline, and Cody smiled faintly remembering Murray's eager delight as they'd flown over the city and he'd spotted the Statue of Liberty and Yankee Stadium out his window.

"New York, this is a great place," he said enthusiastically as he hurried ahead of them toward the luggage carrousels. 

"Don't do a song and dance about it," Nick said sourly. "Remember, we don't even have hotel reservations."

"Winston said they'd put us up," Cody reminded him.

"Yeah, camp beds, probably. Man, I could sleep for a month. Wait up, Mur."

Bozinsky waved cheerfully but didn't slow down.

"If we could bottle that energy, I could afford that new keel for the Riptide," Cody said with a grin. "Come on, Nick. Just think. Pretty soon you'll be meeting the Ghostbusters' pet ghost."

"Pet nonsense," Nick growled. He wasn't at his best when he didn't sleep well. "Come on, Cody, this whole thing could be just nothing."

"I know. But we can't take the chance, not if it's Reynard. You can bet Winston hadn't been thinking about him for along time before this happened. Why would he pull a weird stunt out of the blue? _Something_ happened. Remember Murray's ghost friend who hired us."

"He wasn't a ghost," Nick insisted, but doubtfully.

"I think he was a ghost," Cody argued. "Okay, so it's crazy. It goes against common sense. But Winston was no air dreamer in Nam, and you know it. Basic guy, common sense all the way. If Hemphill had called claiming he'd seen a ghost, I'd write it off in an instant. But not Winston."

"It's how he collects his paycheck," Nick argued. "He has to claim ghosts exist. It'd be bad public relations if he was a skeptic."

It was the same old argument they'd shared across the length of the continent; they wouldn't resolve it now. Cody craned his neck to see if he could spot Murray in the crowd, but Bozinsky had vanished ahead of them. "You see Boz?" he asked.

"Try and slow _him_ down," Nick said with a grin. "Come on, let's track him down. He's probably picked up our suitcases already. Man, I wish we could have brought our guns."

They'd argued it out and realized their license for carrying concealed weapons wouldn't be valid in New York, nor would their P.I. licenses. Nick had been all for packing the guns anyway, but Cody had vetoed it. He hoped they wouldn't need them, but didn't count on it. He didn't relish the thought of his only defense being a Ghostbusters proton pack. Nick had finally muttered it would be easy to pick up guns in a place like New York if they needed them. But Cody knew they'd have to bring in the police. It was the only smart thing to do.

They took the escalator down to the luggage area and glanced around. Murray had vanished; he wasn't waiting for them there. "Now where did Murray go?" Nick wondered.

"Stopped off in the john?" Cody frowned. "I'll go this way, you go that." There were half a dozen baggage carrousels in the area, some of them empty, a few crowded with people from their flight and from a couple of other flights that had come in at much the same time.

They went up and down the area, moved among the people from their flight, paused to grab their duffle bags, and Murray still hadn't surfaced. "This is crazy," Nick insisted. "Where could he have gone? You can't get lost on the way to the bags. Even if you've never been here before, it's clearly marked." He leaned over the moving ramp, studying each face. No Murray Bozinsky.

"Got distracted?" Cody suggested. "Ran into an old friend?"

"I hope he didn't run into an old enemy," Nick said abruptly, his face hardening as he spoke the words Cody had hoped they could avoid.

"Reynard? But why? How would he even know Murray was with us?"

"We were together when we got off the plane," Nick reminded him. "This is a pretty public place for a shooting, besides, you have to go through the X-ray machine."

"We both know there are guns that can go through without setting it off. You think a guy like Reynard doesn't have access to a Glock 7? If it's too public for a shooting, it's too public for a kidnapping."

Nick dropped his bag at his feet and grabbed Cody by the upper arms. "Come on, Code, you know what the Boz is like. Friendly little guy, not a suspicious bone in his body. He's learned caution on the job, but he wouldn't expect trouble at the airport. You think Reynard couldn't get the drop on him without creating a disturbance. Man could take out one of the President's secret service guys and not raise a stir. Maybe he's gonna use Murray as bait, lure him to us, to a secluded spot, kill us face to face."

"And maybe Murray went down the wrong escalator," Cody replied, though he didn't believe it. "Oh, man," he groaned. "We should have insisted he stay home." He knew Murray wouldn't have done it; he'd have never let Cody and Nick go into danger without him, not when he considered the two of them his brothers, and he'd have felt betrayed if they had insisted.

"Yeah, insisting he stay home would be like insisting the tide stop flowing," Nick replied. "Damn it, it was our danger, not his."

"Let's backtrack," Cody decided. "Come on. Maybe somebody saw what happened to Murray."

But a crowded airport is not a good place for a search. Anyone who noticed anything out of the ordinary had already moved on, been met, picked up luggage, grabbed a cab. Swimming upstream against a sea of new arrivals, Cody and Nick paused at the little shops along the concourse, trying to find a clerk who might have seen Murray's disappearance. They met up with blank stares, impatient insistence that they'd been too busy to pay attention to anybody but customers.

"Well, he wouldn't have taken a cab," Nick decided after they checked out the third bathroom and found no trace of a Murray who had suddenly been taken ill. "Either he's still here at the airport or Reynard had a car here."

"Parked where?" Cody challenged. "Unless you're a cabby or limo driver you can't park along the ramp here. The parking lots aren't that handy either. The further he had to drag Murray, the greater chance he had of giving himself away."

"So how did he manage it?" Nick asked. They went through the luggage pickup and outside. It was a warm day for early April, perfect weather. A line of cabs awaited them, and a guy in a uniform tried to direct them toward the nearest one.

Cody waved him away. "Let's find a cop and report it," he said.

Nick groaned. "Oh, man, I hate this," he said. "We should have stuck to him."

"We'll find him," Cody insisted, though a part of him was afraid it was too late, that Murray might already be dead. Running his eyes along the curve of the building, he spotted a patrol car and set off in that direction. "Come on, Nick," he urged. "It's time to talk to the police."

*****

"I'll come over right away," Ray insisted. His cold sounded a little better, but that was probably the antihistamines kicking in. "Gosh, poor Janine. That's awful." His voice was stricken, scared. "She's gonna be all right, isn't she, Peter?"

"Ray, you stay put," Peter insisted. "I asked the doctor and he said there were enough germs floating around the hospital without bringing in more. They haven't even let us see Janine; they won't let you go in. It would endanger her."

"I know, Peter, but I could stay in the waiting room."

"You stay there," Peter insisted. "Winston's at the police station making a statement. He's going to come over and join you when he's through. They're gonna assign two men to him; they think he's a risk here too. Come on, Ray, he's feeling really bad about what happened. You can't be here, so it's your job to take care of him. He's blaming himself, and we both know it was that Reynard's fault, not his. Are you up for it?"

Ray hesitated. "Yeah, Peter, I'll do it. Poor Winston. He couldn't have stopped it. It could have been any of you." He paused to sneeze three times. "You call the _second_ you hear about Janine."

"I will." Peter hung up and turned around, coming face to face with Sergeant Anderson. "What are you doing here?"

"Warning you," the detective replied. "We pulled it all together. That patrolman in the park, Nimzicki? He didn't _have_ a partner. The people in the crowd saw two cops and assumed they were together. But the other one made off with Nimzicki's patrol car just as calmly as you please right after Nimzicki called in for the EMTs. Has to be Reynard. The most anybody can remember was that he had dark hair with grey in it. A big man, thin." He shook his head. "We're working on a sketch of him now. Zeddemore is with them, so he can see if the results match what he remembers. Then we'll know for sure what we're up against."

"He stole a patrol car?" Peter shook his head in disbelief. He'd seen a couple of uniformed cops himself but hadn't paid any attention to them. Other than Nimzicki, who had been right there, he couldn't identify any of them. "Just waltzed off with it in front of all you detectives?"

"I'm beginning to believe Zeddemore's story," Anderson said wryly. "It would take a pretty skilled character with a lot of chutzpa to pull off a stunt like that. Had to look like he had the right to what he was doing. Anybody saw a cop with a gun, they'd assume he had the right to use it." He grimaced. "Inspector Frump showed up."

Peter groaned. "I was afraid of that." Frump didn't like the Ghostbusters, and his path had crossed theirs several times, never to Peter's satisfaction. The big man was abrasive enough to make enemies, and from the sound of it, Anderson didn't like him much, either.

"This isn't Frump's precinct," Anderson went on. "But he says he knows you Ghostbusters and the captain decided he could borrow him for the duration." Seeing Peter's face fall, he said, "Sorry. You had enough to endure already. At least your friend Zeddemore is safe for now."

"Yeah, when Reynard is imitating cops? I don't think so." Peter shook his head. "What about Ray? He's at headquarters all on his own, in bed with a nasty cold. Could he be in danger?"

Anderson's beeper went off. He pulled it out, studied the number, and said, "Excuse me." Snatching up the phone Peter had just used, he fed money into it and identified himself. Then he was silent a long time, his face darkening. When he spoke, it was to say, "Send McKinley over to Ghostbuster headquarters right away to stand guard over Stantz." He hung up almost immediately and whirled. "This is turning into a circus sideshow."

"What's wrong? Ray all right?"

"We're checking that now. We just had a call from LaGuardia. Zeddemore's two fellow witnesses to the original murder showed up, with a buddy. Somebody snatched the buddy." He frowned. "If Reynard still has Nimzicki's car and the uniform, he could manage it without any trouble. We've put out an APB, but if the bastard's smart, he's already in another car."

"He grabbed Bozinsky?" Peter yelped, lowering his voice when a passing nurse favored him with a warning glare. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were. This is turning into a nightmare. This ties in with Midtown's case, so we're stuck with it. Zeddemore's friends are on their way over to the precinct."

"But was there time for Reynard to shoot Janine and reach the airport in time to grab Murray? How'd he know to go to the airport anyway?"

"That's probably the easiest part. He could have had your line bugged. Did you know what flight they were coming in on?"

Peter nodded. "They called last night. They were taking the redeye. Should have landed around ten. We arrived in Central Park about eight-fifteen. I know, because it felt like the middle of the night. I'm not a morning person." He glanced at his watch. It was just after ten-thirty. "We had the ghost by eight-thirty," Peter realized. "That must be when Janine..." There was still no word of her. "Takes time to drive out to LaGuardia, but he had a patrol car. Could have used the siren. Yeah, he could have made it in time. But why grab Murray? It was the other two he wanted. I met the two of them once, in passing, but spent more time with Murray because he came on a bust with us. He wouldn't have known a thing about Reynard. He's a computer geek."

"Maybe Reynard wanted leverage," Anderson said. "I'm staying here, waiting with you. Based on this, any of you could be a target now."

"Yeah," said Peter. "And Egon's so worried about Janine, he wouldn't even notice if Reynard tried to attack him."

"He have a relationship with Ms Melnitz?" Anderson asked.

"No. She'd like it if they did, but Egon--well, women chase him like crazy, but he rarely chases back. I think one day he's gonna fall for her hard, but even with the shooting, it hasn't happened yet. He loves her. Heck, we all do. She's one of us. But now, if anything happens to her, if she doesn't make it..." Peter paused to clear his throat. "Egon will take it hardest of all. Janine's family has been notified. They're on their way here. I don't want him to have to face them alone."

Anderson's lean face was sympathetic. He must understand more than Peter was saying. "Okay, let's go track him down," he said and gestured in the direction of the waiting room.

*****

"Dr. Spengler?"

Egon bolted to his feet, whirling at a glimpse of a white coat, hoping for a doctor, but the man who stood confronting him was not a doctor. He wore a white suit, white shoes, white tie, and he held in one hand a white fedora. He wore glasses with one lens blacked over, and he had a mustache. Though he slightly favored one knee, the cane in his other hand was almost an affectation instead of a tool. His hair was fair. Behind him by several steps, also clad from head to toe in white, designer white by the look of it, stood a light-complected black woman with masses of dark hair. She carried a small briefcase tucked under one arm.

The pair were about as incongruous a sight as Egon could have imagined in a better frame of mind. But Egon's mind was in a state of turmoil because there was still no word of Janine's condition, and the white-clad strangers simply made him boggle. "I'm Dr. Spengler," he said, realizing as he spoke that the man already knew; the interrogative note in his voice had been a request for attention rather than an attempt to identify him. Forcing his concentration from the image of Janine's broken body that had lodged in his brain, he said, "Who are you?"

It was the woman who spoke, stepping forward abruptly. "This is Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III. I'm his assistant, Marella." When Egon simply stared, no further along than before, she said, "Your colleague, Winston Zeddemore called in favors with the military last night searching for a man named Hawke." Opening her briefcase, she passed over a photograph of two men, both fair haired and clad in casual clothes. "Is this the Mr. Hawke in question? Either of these men?"

"I don't know. I never saw Hawke, nor heard of him until last night. I only know of him from Winston's story. He could tell you. I couldn't."

"Where is Mr. Zeddemore? We understand your secretary was wounded in a sniper attack today. We assumed Mr. Zeddemore would be here."

"Winston's at the police station," Egon replied.

"And I'm here," said a voice behind the newcomers. Sergeant Anderson. He stalked into the room, beside Peter, who instantly came over to Egon and placed himself at the physicist's side, his face stiff and stubborn.

"I'm Sergeant Ron Anderson, NYPD," the detective introduced himself, adding pointedly, "And you are?"

The woman repeated her introductions. Tucking his hat under his arm to free one hand, the man, Coldsmith-Briggs, took out a wallet, opened it, and held it out to the sergeant, who recoiled in surprise from the ID it contained.

"What does this have to do with the Firm?" he asked, a resentful expression on his face.

"The _Firm_ ," squawked Peter, eyes wide in astonishment. "Spies? International intrigue? This Reynard must really be a big shot."

"Reynard!" echoed Coldsmith-Briggs and Marella in concert. They turned and stared at each other, all sorts of silent messages passing between them. "Zeddemore made no mention of Reynard last night," she continued almost accusingly.

"No, he was trying to find this Hawke because Reynard's stalking five guys who were together escaping from the Viet Cong during the war," Peter explained. "They saw Reynard murder a guy in cold blood and he knew they saw him. Reynard already killed one of the five, Doug Hemphill, and shot Janine." His face darkened and he cast a quick, interrogative glance at Egon to see if he'd had news. Egon shook his head. Peter gnawed his bottom lip for a second before adding, "And now he's kidnapped somebody, and we don't know why."

"Kidnapped?" Egon spun on Peter in horror. "Not Ray?" He was sure he was wrong. Peter was tense and worried but if anything had happened to Ray, Egon would have been able to tell it simply by looking at him.

"Murray Bozinsky."

"The computer man? What does he have to do with this?" Marella queried, lifting a surprised eyebrow. Peter took a second, impressed look at her and edged a step closer, smiling at her.

"That's the guy, and he's involved because his two partners were with Winston when Reynard killed a reporter in cold blood." Peter said. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Peter Venkman. I'm famous."

"I know who you are, Dr. Venkman," said Marella coolly. Turning to Coldsmith-Briggs, she said. "I believe we need Mr. Zeddemore."

"Yes we do," the man with the eyepatch replied. "Sergeant, which precinct is it?"

While Anderson gave the address, Marella returned the photo to her briefcase and closed it with a snap. Then the two of them headed for the nearest exit, Coldsmith-Briggs' bad knee not holding him back in his haste to be gone.

"Oh, man," groaned Anderson. "That's the last thing we need. What the hell does Langley want with this case?"

"I don't know why they'd want to know about Hawke--that's the one Winston said was probably still M.I.A." Egon frowned. "But it's apparent they know about Reynard."

"Yeah, and they're a lot more worried about him than they were about this Hawke guy," Peter said. "Not too happy about the big boys taking over your case, huh, Anderson?"

The sergeant's face gave the agreement to that. "We work with the FBI occasionally," he said, "but usually not with the international types. I can smell a security cover-up a mile away and that's where we're heading."

"I don't like Ray being all alone," Peter said. "If Reynard grabbed Murray it was because he was easy to snatch, he's probably gonna offer to switch him for Allen and Ryder. What if he grabs Ray to get to Winston."

"We've already sent men to Ghostbusters' headquarters," Anderson replied.

"Yeah, and how's Ray gonna know it's a real cop and not Reynard in a stolen uniform and patrol car? There were no cops there when I just called. If anything happens to Ray, I'm gonna hold you personally responsible," he snapped.

"Peter." Egon's quiet voice cut through the tirade. Peter turned to him.

"But, Egon, Ray's in danger."

"You can't personally protect him against Reynard," Egon reminded him. "You'll have to trust the police force to do it. I'm certain you'd feel better if you were there wearing a proton pack, with your thrower in your hand, but from those two's reaction, I suspect Reynard was a covert operative in Vietnam. He'll have an edge because you have no training at all."

"You think a couple of cops from a patrol car can face him down?" Peter growled.

"I don't even think so, not if he's a former operative," Anderson said. "Maybe we should place the four of you in protective custody, find a safe house."

"I have to stay here until I find out about Janine," Egon said flatly, determined to stay at all costs. "Besides, she's a bargaining chip for a man like that, too. She'll need equal protection. Even though he didn't mean to shoot Janine, he still did."

Peter gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "Egon, this guy's good, but he won't come for Janine. That would be too big a risk even for him, especially when Ray's a sitting duck. Or maybe Murray's enough for him. I can't see Winston hiding in a safe house when his friends are in trouble, not when he considers it _his_ trouble, can you?"

Egon shook his head slowly. Winston was a universal protector. He'd watched out for the other three Ghostbusters ever since he'd joined the business. Remembering Murray Bozinsky and his eager enthusiasm for life--and his lack of a hard edge--Egon knew Winston wouldn't sit calmly in safety when he was threatened. He was positive Nick Ryder and Cody Allen wouldn't either. He had not met the two men in California, though Peter and Ray had. He didn't know them. But he did know Winston said they were a real team, that they were close. They wouldn't leave their teammate in jeopardy for an instant if they could prevent it.

"Peter's right, Sergeant," Egon said. "You'll have to make sure Winston doesn't get in over his head. He's the real target here. He's the one in trouble."

*****

Surrounded by police officers, Winston hadn't felt he was in trouble at the moment, other than a lingering unhappiness because his trouble had spilled over and hurt Janine. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't his fault she was in the hospital, but his stomach didn't know it, and his heart didn't. As he and the witnesses tried to make a picture of Reynard all of them could agree on, his thoughts were never far away from the secretary. Why didn't Pete call and tell him she was okay?

"Zeddemore?" It was Lt. Hanson, Anderson's boss. "Come here a minute."

The man's voice was grim. _Oh, man_ , Winston thought miserably. _He's got bad news about Janine._ His heart plunged into his boots and he stood up, girding himself to face the music.

"Someone here to talk to you," Hanson said. "You can use my office."

_Peter, here to tell me himself,_ thought Winston, and followed Anderson grimly, only to draw back at the sight of two strangers, clad entirely in white, the man with one blacked out lens on his glasses. He was seated at Hanson's desk as if it were his own.

"Mr. Zeddemore," the woman said before Winston could ask a single question. "Come in."

"Coldsmith-Briggs," said the man at the desk by way of introduction. "We've just learned of your experience in Vietnam. Your two colleagues on that adventure, Ryder and Allen, are being brought here even as we speak."

"Why does that interest you?" Winston said, bracing himself in the doorway and folding his arms across his chest.

"We originally became involved because you asked after a man called Hawke," the man in white replied. "And that...interests me, very much."

"You know Hawke?" Winston asked, then threw in another question before he could answer. "Who are you? Not military intelligence? CIA? NSA? Man, I had a bad feeling about it at the time. Was Hawke your man? Was he after Reynard?"

The woman showed Winston an identity card, which didn't reassure him much. He should have known this would touch on espionage. He'd felt at the time that Reynard wasn't playing a private game, though his murder of Markham had felt private.

"Before we start on Reynard, can you identify either man in this picture," the woman, Marella, asked, holding out a snapshot. It was of two men, obviously companionable, possibly related because they had a similar appearance, though they were not identical in any way. One of them was a total stranger but the other one--he was Hawke.

Winston passed it back, pointing to the man who had helped him break out of that VC transit camp. "That's him. That's Hawke. Never knew his first name."

"It's Sinjin," Marella said. "And, as you surmised, he is still M.I.A. The other man, his brother, is..." She hesitated, seeking the right word, "an associate of ours. Not a member of the Firm but a man who might value your information."

"I don't have much, but I'd be glad to call him and talk to him about Hawke when this is all over," Winston said.

"You know nothing that can lead us to his current location?" asked Coldsmith-Briggs.

"I never saw him again after that day. When I reached my lines, I told them about him in my debriefing. They didn't give me anything to go on, but later on they told me there was no one of that name." He shook his head. "Was he working for you then?"

"Not then," Coldsmith-Briggs replied. Winston wasn't sure he believed him, but that didn't matter as much as the current crisis.

"Is he alive?" Winston asked.

"I would give a great deal to learn the answer to that question myself, Mr. Zeddemore. I'll be asking it of your two colleagues as well, when they arrive."

"Okay, then, Reynard," Winston said. "When you found out I'd been asking around, you came hunting for information about Hawke. What about Reynard? Do you have a picture of him in there, too?" He gestured at Marella's briefcase.

"No, Mr. Zeddemore," Coldsmith-Briggs replied. "We didn't realize Reynard was involved until we arrived at the hospital to find you. Your colleagues told us what had happened and we came straight here."

"Guess he's more important than finding your buddy's brother," Winston observed.

Marella gave a faintly knowing smile at her boss then grew serious. "Reynard is a very dangerous man, Mr. Zeddemore, no less so because he's been out of the game for a number of years."

"In fact we had information to suggest he died in Vietnam." Coldsmith-Briggs took over the narration. "Under the circumstances, Mr. Zeddemore--"

He broke off at a knock on the door, and a uniformed officer opened it to admit Nick Ryder and Cody Allen, who wore identical grim and impatient expressions. The cop withdrew, closing the door behind him.

"Winston," exclaimed Cody. "What's going on? Murray disappeared at the airport. We can't just sit here. We've got to find him."

"Reynard took him," Coldsmith-Briggs said, gesturing them into chairs. "Mr. Allen, Mr. Ryder, please sit down." It was evident he knew which was which without explanations or introductions. "The police department is aware of what has happened and how it happened. They've issued an all points bulletin."

" _We're_ not aware of what happened," Nick growled, eyeing the two in white with heavy suspicion. "How did he know we were going to be even _be_ at the airport."

"At this point a phone tap at the Ghostbusters' headquarters seems the most likely answer," Marella said. "He obviously knew about the team's early morning, er, bust, and was able to arrive on the scene and get off a few shots, which unfortunately wounded Ms. Melnitz."

"Melnitz?" Nick mouthed to Cody, lifting a questioning eyebrow..

"Our secretary," Winston explained. "I bent over to pick up the trap and she took the bullet meant for me."

Nick opened his mouth to ask more questions and Cody poked him in the side with his elbow. "It wasn't your fault, Zed," he said understandingly.

"I was the target, she wasn't."

"You still are the target," Marella pointed out calmly. "Our purpose here is to prevent any further attempt on your lives."

"Who are these people?" Nick exploded. "Why are we just sitting around when the Boz is in danger?"

"Because it's easier to work out the details first, Mr. Ryder, to avoid running around like a chicken with its head cut off," Marella said. "The more we know now, the better chance we have of stopping Reynard."

"They're spooks," Winston explained. "With the Firm. They didn't know about Reynard at first, they were poking around because they're interested in Hawke. When they heard of Reynard, they practically dumped the Hawke inquiry, and now it's Reynard all the way."

"Michael is a deputy-director at the Firm," Marella explained. "And while it would please us very much to locate Sinjin Hawke alive and well, it has become more...expedient...to find and stop Reynard."

"So you know about him," said Cody, interested. "We thought maybe he was covert ops gone bad."

"The problem being that no one at the time _knew_ he had gone bad," Michael explained. "Everything I'm going to tell you now is classified, and the only reason you're hearing the portion I'll relate is that you do have a need to know, up to a point. Reynard was the code name for an agent during the Vietnam war. I can't tell you his real name or which agency he was with."

"There are so many of them," Cody said sotto voce.

Coldsmith-Briggs nodded in acknowledgment, a small grin lifting the corners of his mustache. "Precisely. He had a link with our Russian opposite numbers, leaking disinformation. On the side he ran a black market ring, did a little drug smuggling, made himself look like a pretty sleazy character. We didn't realize just how sleazy until it was too late. Somewhere along the line, he stopped feeding them disinformation and started giving them the real thing. You assume no one cared when you reported the death of the journalist Ethan Markham. Not true. People cared very much. But it was classified, and you didn't have the clearance to find out what happened after that."

"I knew they were stonewalling us," Nick muttered.

"They had to, Mr. Ryder," Marella said. "If it came out, it would have given too much away. We were scrambling as it was to protect agents Reynard sold out."

"And Markham was one of them." Cody snapped his fingers in realization. "Nobody ever told his family he was dead."

"You did," the man in white replied. "We were rather glad of that; we couldn't do it officially without being required to explain far too much. On the strength of your story we were able to see his widow received a pension."

"You'd have just let her hang out to dry otherwise." Nick wasn't willing to make any concessions.

"We would have provided for her, of course," Marella said. "It's just that it would have taken a more creative solution."

"Okay, so you have Reynard, a known agent. What's he doing popping up now and taking potshots at people?" asked Cody. "How did you let him get away with it?"

"When the war ended, he was gone. He disappeared during the fall of Saigon. Opinion was split: He'd gone to Moscow, he'd hidden out in the jungle, he'd died and his body was in an unmarked grave."

"All of which meant you could just drop it?" Nick looked like he wanted to spring from his chair. Winston understood. He wanted to be at the hospital, and the other two must be desperate to help Murray Bozinsky.

"No one dropped it," Michael said tightly. "The case was never closed. What we think happened is that he snatched the dog tags off a dead g.i."

"Sure, and returned to his unit and no one noticed?" Winston shook his head.

"He came out later, escaped through Cambodia, found a man who'd been M.I.A. for a year or two. So there wouldn't be any familiar faces. There are a lot of ways to do it. Maybe he'd found a victim with no family and killed him and kept the dogtags in reserve. We now have to assume he's been living in the states ever since, under a false identity. Either he hasn't continued in the espionage field or he's been very discreet." Coldsmith-Briggs frowned. "What perplexes us is why he would suddenly come into the open now."

"The first murder was written off as a drive-by," Cody explained. "Murray hacked into the computer files of a Minneapolis paper and we read about it."

"First murder?" Michael and Marella exchanged glances. "Dr. Spengler mentioned it. Suppose you tell us about the first murder?" the woman encouraged. "If you are referring to Douglas Hemphill's death in Minneapolis three days ago, that was reported as a drive-by shooting. Though of course we don't believe that in the face of what's happened today."

Winston explained hastily about the appearance of Doug Hemphill's ghost, his mouth tightening when Michael and Marella exchanged very skeptical glances. "How do you account for everything that's happened if I didn't run into Doug's ghost?" he demanded. "Reynard killed him, and he shot Janine, and now he's grabbed Bozinsky. We didn't imagine any of that. So either you say I took a wild guess or you buy what I'm saying."

"I have to say I was skeptical myself," Cody said. "But now--what do you think he'll do to Murray?"

"Dr. Bozinsky has seen him," Marella replied sympathetically.

"You mean he could be dead already?" Nick groaned. "Oh, man, I hate this. We can't leave the little guy hanging. We need to go out there and find him. He's depending on us to rescue him. I won't let him take the fall for us."

"Nobody's saying you have to, buddy," Cody reassured him. "We'll get him back. We've gotten out of tight situations before." He eyed the Firm agents. "Listen, you can't expect us to sit here and do nothing when our friend is in danger."

"Suppose you tell me where you'll search for him," Coldsmith-Briggs asked. "You don't know New York, you're not licensed private investigators here." He saw them react and said, "You didn't think anyone cared about your story in Vietnam. But I assure you people did care. We gained access to your names once we knew what was going on. You don't know where Reynard is. Hemphill died several days ago. Reynard's had that much time to lay his plans here. Either he bugged the Ghostbusters' telephone or used sound equipment to monitor their calls. He knew when you two were arriving, the flight number and time. He's gone to ground. Most likely he'll use Dr. Bozinsky to draw you to a location he's chosen in advance, so he can kill you."

"You think we're going to sit tamely under police protection when Murray needs us?" Cody demanded hotly, a sentiment Winston could agree with. Reynard had hurt Janine. He knew he couldn't wait calmly for rescue by the Firm or the NYPD. He had to do _something_ , anything.

The two agents exchanged looks, then Marella said, "Would it suit Ms. Melnitz or Dr. Bozinsky to have the three of you die?"

"You might _need_ us to get Murray," Nick pointed out.

"If so, we'd control the situation," Michael replied. "You two may be private investigators but you haven't come up against anyone like Reynard before. He's controlling the scenario."

"Yeah, but _he_ hasn't come up against the Ghostbusters before," insisted Winston. "We could use our particle throwers. Egon knows how to configure them so we could take him out without killing him. We could take readings of the stolen police car when it turns up and find out his biorhythms. Then we could boost all our meters and set them so we'd know if he came within a block of us."

Cody and Nick regarded this plan with considerable approval; they wanted a shot at Reynard. He'd made it personal when he kidnapped their friend, just like he'd made it personal when he shot Janine. If Janine was unhurt and Murray was free, all three of them would have been content to let the intelligence community remove Reynard. Now such a tame procedure didn't appeal.

"That's an interesting plan," Marella said. "The vehicle has been found in an airport parking ramp."

"I hope you haven't had a team go through it," Winston said, imagining his plan going down in smoke.

"Not yet. We were importing experts," Coldsmith-Briggs replied. "I'll see you're taken there immediately. Do you need your colleagues to do the job?"

Winston smiled. Finally. Action. He'd like to use Egon, but he didn't think it was fair to take him away from Janine. "Ray could help. Yeah, he has a cold, but he'd overlook it for this. Can you have him meet us there? Or have the police bring him? I know he'd want to do anything to help catch the guy who shot Janine."

"We're coming too," Cody replied. "We can't take readings, but we want to help."

"You called that right, man," Nick insisted, bounding to his feet. He was never comfortable with waiting. "We need our Boz back."

*****

Murray Bozinsky hadn't even realized he'd been kidnapped when it first happened. Eagerly hurrying down the ramp at LaGuardia, he'd only stopped when a policeman fell into step with him and said, "Dr. Bozinsky?"

"That's me."

"Reynard is at the airport," the cop said.

His eyes widened. "Gosh, you've gotta warn Nick and Cody."

"There's a team stopping them as we speak. We'll take you into the city to the precinct where you'll be safe. I'm Officer Grey." The name was stenciled on his uniform. "The Ghostbusters told us your flight number. There's been an incident in Central Park, a shooting."

Murray walked with him automatically as he guided him to the door. "Who was shot? Not Winston?"

The officer's face darkened. "No, the Ghostbusters' secretary." He was a middle-aged man, brown hair going grey, and the hard face of a veteran of years of police work. "I don't think she was killed. They took her to the hospital. But that means you're a target as well. If we're lucky, Reynard doesn't know you and your friends are coming."

"Gosh, no. I don't know how he could," Murray replied. "He probably meant to take out Winston and then come out to California for Nick and Cody. I'm sure glad you're on the job."

"I thought you would be." He led Murray outside to a waiting patrol car. "You'll see your friends again soon. We thought it better to separate you since you are not a target."

"I don't want to be safe if they're not," Murray objected. He'd found the thought of Reynard pretty daunting but hadn't hesitated to come along on this jaunt. He couldn't let his two best friends go into danger without him. Maybe he wasn't an expert with guns and skulduggery, but he couldn't stand the thought of them going off on a dangerous mission and maybe being hurt--or killed--when he wasn't there. He had hoped he could convince them and the Ghostbusters to tell the story to the police or the FBI.

Now it seemed the Ghostbusters had done just that. He climbed into the rear seat of the police car at Grey's instruction, craning his neck to see if another police car waited for his two best buddies. That was funny. He didn't see one.

"Where's the car for Nick and Cody?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"They'll be taken in an unmarked car," Grey replied. "We don't want to call attention to them. You aren't a target. Even if you know the story of Reynard, which you clearly do, you can't identify him."

"No, I've never seen him or even a picture of him," Murray said, suddenly uneasy. "Would he care, though? If he could use me to lure in Nick and Cody?"

Grey started the car. "You're a clever man, Dr. Bozinsky. Perhaps too clever for your own good." He turned in the seat and smiled at him, then he pulled into traffic.

Murray had a sudden, very bad feeling. A uniformed officer and a patrol car should have made him feel safe, but that smile had not reassured. He hadn't noticed Grey's eyes before, but when he smiled it emphasized how cold and how empty they were. Murray had a sudden premonition he had just walked into a trap. _Gosh, what if this guy's Reynard? I could be in big trouble._

He was sure of it when the police car turned off the road and into a parking ramp, driving up several levels until he found an area with no one in sight. He stopped the car, turned around, and climbed out. Murray braced himself to jump him, but it didn't work like that. When Grey--Reynard--opened the car door, he raised a strange weapon and fired it point blank. Murray flinched, horrified, then gasped and gazed down at the dart protruding from his chest. He barely had time to realize he'd been tranquilized rather than shot before lethargy pumped through his veins and he fell into his enemy's arms, unconscious.

*****

Ray Stantz was miserable. Worried sick about Janine and forbidden to rush to the hospital because of a stupid cold that might endanger her, he could only wish he could be with Egon, Peter, and Winston now. It wasn't fair that Janine had been badly hurt, not when she was taking his place on the team. _I'm sorry, Janine,_ he thought unhappily. _I should have gone on the bust instead of you. We should have called the police last night_ , he thought wearily, reaching for a Kleenex. "Why didn't we call the police?"

The police were here now. There were two of them downstairs, one on the ground floor, positioned at Janine's desk, the other on the second floor, drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Once he'd heard about Janine, Ray hadn't been able to stay in bed. The cold medicine had given him enough energy to leave his bed, and the news had left him wired and uneasy, unable to settle to anything. He prowled the lab, trying to find a way to occupy his mind but nothing worked.

Why didn't they call from the hospital? It had been hours. It was well after eleven now. Why was it taking them so long? Peter had said Winston would come home when he'd called but that felt like hours ago and Winston still wasn't here.

Slimer had sensed Ray's unhappiness and hung around demanding explanations, and finally Ray had told the little green ghost that Janine had been hurt. He'd had to take half an hour to comfort the spud, reassuring him, though he had no real reassurances of his own. Finally Slimer had vanished to console himself by raiding the neighboring trash bins, and Ray was sorry to see him go. Slimer might not be the greatest company in the world, but he was better than no company. The two cops downstairs hadn't been much help. Seeing them only reminded Ray the team was in crisis. If he'd gone on the bust instead of Janine... He could imagine Peter insisting it wasn't his fault, and he knew that, really. If he'd been there, it would have gone down differently, but there was no way to tell how. His moves would have been different from Janine's. Winston might have been killed--or Egon or Peter. Ray knew he couldn't blame himself or second guess what would have happened, but he'd spent a lot of time in that futile pursuit while he waited.

The ringing of the telephone jerked him to alertness and he grabbed for the nearest extension with a combination of relief and trepidation. What if the news was bad? What if Janine was dead? He stood there, hand clutching the receiver, forcing himself to pick it up. "Ghostbusters."

"Winston. Ray, we need you. We've got new problems."

"Janine..." Ray faltered, shaken by the note of grim urgency in Zeddemore's voice.

"No, I haven't heard anything about her yet. But Nick, Cody, and Murray arrived at LaGuardia, and Reynard snatched Murray at the airport."

"Snatched _Murray_?" That couldn't be, could it? "Why?"

"We think so he'd have a bargaining chip," Winston said. "The police found the car he used for the first part of the kidnapping. We want to take biorhythm readings, see if we can detect Reynard's pattern."

"Gosh, we'd have to be quick," breathed Ray. "Biorhythm fields don't last very long."

"The police are there, right? Have them bring you to LaGuardia. They can find out the exact location from Dispatch." He hesitated. "I can't ask Egon."

"Golly, no, he has to stay at the hospital," Ray agreed. "Poor Egon, I'm glad Peter's with him. Are you with Nick and Cody?"

"Yeah, they'll be with me. They're really worried about the little guy, Ray. We've got to figure out how to rescue him."

When he hung up, Ray dressed hastily. He took another cold pill just to make sure, and hurried down to tell the officers what he needed, bringing with him a couple of P.K.E. meters and his proton pack. They had to go to LaGuardia right away.

Given an important job to do, Ray felt better. If only he could detect Reynard's biorhythms with the meter. Maybe he could make up for not going on the bust. Janine wouldn't be in the hospital right now if not for his stupid cold. He had to make up for it.

*****

"How could you do this to her?" the woman demanded, her voice raising to a distraught shriek. "How could you risk her life like this?"

"Easy, Ma. They didn't mean to."

"Nobody meant to," Peter said, stepping quickly in between Egon and Janine's mother and sister Monica. "The last thing any of us wanted was for Janine to be hurt. There isn't one of us who doesn't wish he was in there in her place."

"That's easy to say," Mrs. Melnitz snapped. She was a small, slender woman whose normal calm had been superseded by her concern for her daughter. Her hair was pulled any which way into a hasty bun at the back of her neck and she hadn't bothered to change house slippers for shoes before hurrying to the hospital. Monica was only marginally better put-together.

"I know it is," Peter soothed Mrs. Melnitz. "But we really mean it."

"He doesn't," the older woman said, gesturing past Peter at the silent Egon. "He never wanted her. He doesn't care."

Even without turning the psychologist knew Egon had flinched. Peter couldn't jump in and stomp her down, not when she was Janine's mother, but nobody had the right to fault Egon for any of this, not when he felt so bad already. "Hey, come on," he soothed. "You know he cares. He loves Janine more than any of us do--and that's saying a lot, because we couldn't get along without her, none of us. I know you're scared. We're scared, too. And Egon was hurt, too." He gestured to the physicist's left forearm, that sported a heavy dressing. Egon had discarded his jumpsuit because of the bloodstains, but he couldn't hide the bandage. Although it wasn't a serious wound, Peter wanted to remind Janine's family all of them had been targets. Much as he hated what had happened to Janine, it had been a crapshoot. Any of them could have been hurt--or worse.

"You fight with her all the time," Mrs. Melnitz challenged Peter, ignoring Egon's bandage. There were new lines on her face, around her shadowed eyes.

"Yeah," said Peter, who had already considered that and come to the gradual realization that he couldn't reproach himself for that. "And Janine loved--loves it just as much as I do. Come on, Mrs. M, you know that's true."

The woman had flinched when Peter had inadvertently slipped into the past tense. Her daughter edged up close to her and put her arm around her shoulders. "It is true, Ma," she said. "Janine loves the challenge. I always thought she...halfway considered Peter a big brother."

"Brothers don't risk their sisters," snapped Mrs. Melnitz, unwilling to give ground. Peter couldn't blame her. As long as she had a target for her anger it would make the waiting easier to bear. He didn't mind being a target, but he wouldn't let Egon be one, not when the physicist had been so utterly miserable since their arrival at the hospital. Peter knew none of them was to blame for the shooting. It was all Reynard. He worried that Winston blamed himself, and maybe they'd been stupid not to call the police last night, although he doubted the police would have done anything on the strength of a ghost story. The team would have had to go on the bust anyway, whether Reynard was out there or not. Just because there had been a risk didn't mean they could allow entities to terrorize the city. They were Ghostbusters; they had a responsibility to protect New York from ghosts. Peter didn't see how the presence of a police escort could have made the slightest difference on the bust. He was pretty sure it wouldn't have scared Reynard away, not with the risks the man had taken so coolly.

"Janine knew about Reynard," Peter said. "I'm not defending us, because I don't think there's anything to defend."

"Egon looks like he disagrees with you." They both turned to stare at Egon, who stared at them without speaking, unable to defend himself or to make excuses.

"How do you _think_ he feels?" Peter cried hotly. "A woman who loves him is hurt. Not because of him, but maybe she stayed with us because of that." He realized he'd given Egon another opportunity to reproach himself and knew that under normal circumstances Egon would do no such thing. "Maybe he isn't in love with her, quite, but he does care. He's hurting as much as you are. I know it's easier if you can blame somebody, but if you have to, blame me, not Egon. After all, I'm the one who hired Janine in the first place."

Monica gave a sputter of faint laughter. "That's ridiculous."

"I know. But I won't let you take pot shots at Egon." He was worried sick about Spengler. Naturally he was worried about Janine; that was a given. But Egon was so quiet, so willing to allow Peter to carry this fight.

Mrs. Melnitz gave a weary sigh and her anger trickled away. "Oh, god, Peter, I'm going to lose my baby."

Monica turned and embraced her. "It's all right, Ma. Janine's a fighter. She always has been."

"Yes, she is," Egon spoke at last. "I have been...telling myself that for the past few hours. Telling myself this is a reasonable time to wait. Telling myself she has to be all right." His voice caught. He never took it well when anyone was hurt, but this was Janine. He turned away and blundered over to the window, gripping the frame and staring unseeingly at the city below.

Janine's mother watched him silently, then she detached herself from her daughter and went over to Egon. He turned as she approached and gathered her into his arms.

*****

"God, Cody, this is all our fault."

Cody turned to his best friend and saw the reproach on Nick's face. They had arrived at LaGuardia and now stood, under police protection, while Winston and Ray took esoteric readings with Rube Goldberg gadgets in the abandoned police car Reynard had used to kidnap Murray Bozinsky. Cody had been watching with fingers crossed, hoping there would be a slim lead, anything that would tell them where to find Murray and rescue him unharmed. No one had touched the vehicle; the forensics team was waiting for the two Ghostbusters to finish their tasks before they moved in to hunt for clues, accompanied by a couple of mysterious suited guys who had shown identification to the cops. Probably the Firm's investigation team. Ray and Winston had orders to touch nothing without clearing it first, but they didn't need to touch anything. With all the vehicle's doors ajar, they were engaged in a minuscule testing of every inch of the car's interior, paying particular attention to the driver's seat and steering wheel. Nick and Cody had watched them in silence until Nick had burst out with his belief in their blame.

Cody turned to Nick and gripped his shoulders. "No, it's not," he said. "It's the same fault it's always been, Reynard's." He wished he could believe his own words completely. Although he didn't think it would have been possible to keep Murray from coming with them, he couldn't help wondering if they'd tried hard enough to keep him out of it. Even after several years working together, there were times when he and Nick felt compelled to protect Murray. It wasn't that he was inept or incompetent, just that his areas of expertise were different from those of the other two. He hadn't gained that hard edge Cody and Nick had acquired in Vietnam, and he was completely good-hearted and imbued with a childlike sense of wonder that made him occasionally appear vulnerable. Yet he was also endowed with a stubbornness that would rival a pit bull's, and a persistent determination to be a part of the team. Left behind, he would have pined himself into a state of sheer misery, worrying about his friends, and he might have taken it as proof he wasn't valued properly. It would never have meant that. Both Cody and Nick had learned to value Bozinsky to the point where neither of them could imagine life without him.

"We _knew_ what Reynard was like, man," Nick replied tightly. "We _knew_. I don't know if Murray can even imagine a creep like that. You know how he is. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt. Even after all the scum and lowlifes we've busted, he's still an optimist. I don't think he really believed how bad Reynard is."

"No, but he could tell from our stories that we did," Cody replied. He didn't like the shadows in Nick's eyes. Nick was by far the moodiest member of the team; he'd be bent out of shape over things like this and suffer with them. Look how he'd been over the discovery that his high school buddies had gone into the drug business. He'd felt betrayed then. It wasn't in him to betray anyone, but right now he must be thinking he'd done that to Murray.

"We were the ones who knew. We should have _made_ him stay out of it," Nick insisted. He hunched his shoulders to dislodge Cody's grip.

"Murray wouldn't have listened," Cody replied, though he felt as bad as Nick did over their buddy's capture. "You know how he is. He'd have been brokenhearted if we hadn't let him come."

"I'd rather he was brokenhearted than dead," Nick said grimly.

"Reynard will have to keep him alive," Cody said. "Because if he tries to lure us to come to meet him, we won't go unless we can talk to Murray. He'll know that."

"And the minute we hang up, he won't need Murray any longer," Nick replied. He stared unseeingly at Ray, who was busy moving his P.K.E. meter over the steering wheel of the car, and Winston, who was leaning into the back seat of the police car. "What's the use? What good is this going to do? You know what they said, that these readings of live people aren't very strong. We can't use them to track down the Boz, not unless we had a hundred of the meters and gave them to all the cops in the city. Assuming he's even _in_ the city. He could be over in Jersey." He gave a vague gesture in that general direction. Nick had lived in the area when he was a kid, before the family had moved out to the west coast. Maybe his local knowledge would help.

"Nick, we'll find him. We'll find him because we _have_ to find him," Cody insisted fiercely, wishing he could believe it.

"But he--" Nick broke off abruptly, burst free of Cody's grip, and lunged for the patrol car, grabbing Ray by the scruff of the neck and yanking him backward an instant before he would have climbed into he driver's seat.

Ray let out a startled squawk and said, "I only wanted to take one additional reading. I think there's something stuck down in the seat that might have been Reynard's."

"No. I've got a bad feeling about it. Out of there, Winston."

Zeddemore complied. "Bad feeling? What bad feeling, homeboy?"

The police forensics team converged and Nick turned to them earnestly. "Who's to say he didn't leave a little parting gift in there. A bomb or device. To cover any clues he might have left behind."

"A _bomb_ ," exclaimed Ray in horror, staring at the car.

The police experts took over, doing a thorough check without touching anything. It only took moments. One of the men held up a hand after he leaned down and peered under the front seat. "He's right. It's here. Pressure sensitive."

"You mean if Ray had actually climbed into the car..." Winston stared at his friend in horror. "He'd have gone boom in a big way?"

Ray paled. "Gosh," he breathed. "I never thought..." He appeared so stricken Winston went to him and slung his arm around the shorter man's shoulders.

"It's okay, m'man. Nick was on the job." He cast a reproachful glance at the police.

"I know what Reynard's like," Nick said quietly. "I was expecting trouble."

Cody smiled at him proudly. Nick had come through, no matter how he blamed himself for Murray's capture. That was Nick for you. He'd never once let Cody down, and even now he was still considering all the angles. "Nice work, buddy," he said.

"Yeah, thanks." Ray sneezed. "I'd have been hash if you hadn't been thinking. I didn't even realize."

"You saw something stuck down in the seat?" Winston asked.

"No, I didn't see it. The meter reacted. I think I have a good handle on Reynard's biorhythms now. We can boost the meters to the maximum gain and activate them all around headquarters, and if he comes even within a block of us, we'll know."

"That's great, Ray," Winston praised him.

Cody exchanged a quick glance with Nick. The meters were a great idea, but Janine had been shot from ambush. Reynard might not come within a block of the Ghostbusters' headquarters. Or he might have been in there already, when the place was deserted. If he'd planted a bomb in this car he could have broken into the Ghostbusters' office and planted one there to be triggered at a later date. He wouldn't count on that working; it could go off when Winston wasn't there. But until Reynard was captured, nowhere was safe.

"Think he planted any other bombs?" Winston asked.

"You mean at Headquarters?" Ray's eyebrows raised. "That wouldn't be very nice."

"Reynard's _not_ nice, Ray," Nick told him soberly. "He already killed one man, wounded your secretary, and grabbed Murray. He won't play fair."

"I know, but gee..."

Winston shook his head. "Did anybody stay at the firehouse when you left, Ray?" he asked.

"Yeah, one of the police guys did. So he might not try anything while we're gone. Besides he's holding Murray. He just can't leave him. Murray's smart and resourceful. He might even get away if Reynard isn't there. If he did his homework on all of us, he can't help knowing how brilliant Murray is."

"Your firehouse is being watched," one of the Firm types told them. "You'll be under surveillance until Reynard is taken down."

Cody didn't know whether to be glad or sorry about that. On the one hand, he didn't want anyone to be hurt or killed, but on the other, he wanted to rescue Murray and he didn't want cops or feds watching over his shoulder while he did it. He knew the most important thing was freeing him, no matter who did it, that and stopping Reynard. But he had been a detective too long to be comfortable with inactivity. And then there was Nick, who could be too hot headed for his own good. Cody couldn't let him go off half-cocked. He'd have been fine if Murray was safe, but now that the little guy was in danger, neither of them was prepared to wait.

The bomb squad arrived then and made everyone move well out of range while they worked, removing the pressure bomb under the seat and checking the car for other explosives. Ray hung as close as he could and called to one of the officers, "There might be a clue stuck down in the driver's seat. My readings picked up something."

"We'll check it out," one of the men called. He spoke to his colleague, gesturing at the device Ray held in his hand.

"They don't believe we can find him with the meters," Ray said, his bottom lip protruding pugnaciously. "But we'll show 'em, won't we, Winston?"

"You called that right, homeboy," Winston replied.

Nick still looked skeptical about the Ghostbusters but Cody had a sudden feeling there was more to their work than met the eye. When one of the suited men gave a shout as he produced a slip of paper that had worked its way down into the seat, Nick turned and stared at Ray as if he'd grown a second head.

"What is it?" Cody asked, edging as close as he could.

"Might be the first stroke of luck we've had on this job so far," the man replied. "It's a receipt for a hotel, and it's dated yesterday."

"He can't carry Bozinsky into a hotel," his colleague observed.

"Probably not, but it gives us a start." He sealed the receipt in an evidence bag, and Cody couldn't help noticing he didn't mean to share the hotel's name with the Riptide detectives or the Ghostbusters--or even with the police. It didn't surprise him, but it annoyed him.

Nick started for the man but Cody grabbed his arm and restrained him. "Don't, buddy."

"But he might know where Murray is."

"If he does, he won't tell us. Listen, I don't like it any better than you do, but it's the hand we were dealt to play."

"I'm not gonna just sit back and wait when our Boz is missing," Nick insisted.

"Maybe there's nothing else left for us to do."

"Not necessarily," Ray replied. "I have a clear biorhythm reading for Reynard now."

"And I have Murray's biorhythms. We had them on record from last year," Winston replied. "We can set our meters for both of them and at least try to find them ourselves. Manhattan's long and narrow. We can do a circle of the island and then once right down the middle. It might not work, but at least we'd be doing _something_."

"Fine, if you want to do that," the suit informed them. "But we'll send a man with you. I know you men want to be involved. You're used to taking action in a crisis. But you're not used to men like Reynard. We'll cover you, send a car after you."

Nick muttered under his breath, but Cody nodded. He knew it was the only way they'd be allowed to try. He couldn't go tamely to Ghostbuster Central and wait for news. True, they were relying on weird equipment, but it was the only thing to rely on if the feds wouldn't share their information.

"Let's do it," Winston said.

"Okay," agreed Ray. "But let's call the hospital first. I want to find out if there's any word on Janine."

Cody saw identical expressions on the two Ghostbusters's faces. Guilt. "Hey, guys, it's not your fault Janine was hurt," he said.

"Reynard was shooting at me," said Winston unanswerably.

"Janine went on the bust in my place," explained Ray.

"Unless you pulled the trigger, you're not responsible," Nick burst out.

That made Winston pull himself together. "Just like you're not to blame for Reynard snatching Murray."

Nick opened his mouth to argue, but Ray cut in. "All that matters is that Janine's okay and we rescue Murray. I'm going to go call the hospital." He started for the Ecto-1 and its mobile telephone.

Cody clapped a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Hang in there, buddy," he said softly. "We'll find him."

Nick cast him one quick glance then averted his eyes. He knew as well as Cody did that there were no guarantees of finding him, at least not alive.

*****

"Mrs. Melnitz?"

The quiet voice galvanized all four people in the room. Egon jumped to his feet, all color draining from his face, Peter fought down the tension that twisted his stomach, and Janine's sister clasped her mother's hand. As one, they turned to face the doctor.

He was a young man, with a thick bush of butter-yellow hair and unexpectedly dark eyes. Right now there was a gleam in those eyes as he said, "I'm Dr. Ernest Pratt. Let me tell you right up front that Janine's alive and, if there are no complications, she should make a complete recovery."

Egon sagged with relief, then he turned away abruptly and bowed his head. Peter edged up behind him and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. Janine's mother gasped, her folded hands pressed against her heart, and Monica embraced her, tears in her eyes. It was left from Peter to serve as the group's spokesman, and he said in a voice that held an element of unsteadiness, "How is she? Is she awake?"

"There was slight muscle and tissue damage, but she was very fortunate in the angle of the bullet," Pratt replied. "It managed to hit no major organs. She lost a lot of blood and is weak, but she did regain consciousness. We've just moved her from recovery to intensive care, but if she continues to improve she'll be moved to a normal room before the day is out. We'll keep her several days to monitor her progress."

Peter gripped Egon's shoulder tightly before letting go. He stuck out a hand to Pratt and pumped the doctor's hand enthusiastically.

Janine's mother gathered herself. "Oh, thank you, doctor. You can't know what this means to me."

"I'm glad it turned out the way it did." He studied the four of them. "Janine is insisting on seeing her mother."

"I'll go at once," Mrs. Melnitz said.

"Five minutes, no longer. I'll take you myself. And then she's also asked for Egon." His eyes fell on the physicist. "I assume that would be you."

Egon turned. His eyes glittered too brightly and a tear of relief had run down one cheek. "Yes. I'd like to see her. Very much."

"Tell her we're all pulling for her," Peter told Egon. He felt such colossal relief he could scarcely contain it. "Tell her, I said no lying down on the job."

Egon's breath caught, then he smiled dazzlingly. "I'll tell her," he said, understanding Peter's words.

"Tell her I remember when she came to see me in the hospital," Peter called as Egon and Mrs. Melnitz left with the doctor. "She brought the other three of you presents and she said she was going to let me live. The Venkmans have long memories."

Egon gave a chuckle that sounded like he was awfully close to losing it, but he held on. "I'll let her know she'll need to get you when she comes home," he said and walked away.

Peter turned to Janine's sister. "So," he said, relieved enough to be slap-happy. "What are you doing Saturday night?"

*****

Shooed home by the doctor who had insisted they wouldn't be allowed to see Janine until the next morning, Egon and Peter arrived at headquarters in the middle of the afternoon. They'd heard from Ray and told him the good news about Janine, and knew he and Winston, with Cody Allen and Nick Ryder, were doing a quick run-through of Manhattan with P.K.E. meters, so they expected the firehall to be deserted. Instead they found a patrol car parked out in front, next to a long, white limousine.

"You don't suppose Reynard hired a limo?" Peter asked, cocking an eyebrow at the unexpected vehicle.

"I should doubt he'd do anything so ostentatious," Egon replied.

"Hmm. Ostentatious. I'd say you were returning to normal. That's the first big word you've used in hours."

Egon couldn't help smiling. Knowing Janine was going to be all right had made all the difference, clearing his mind for constructive thought. The memory of her lying small and frail in the hospital bed and the way her hand clutched feebly at his was frightening, but her eyes had held her usual spirit and the last thing she had said before he left the room was, 'Get him, Egon. Take him out. Don't let him hurt Winston.' Egon meant to do just that if he had any control over the situation.

"Scarcely the last big word, Peter." He paid off the taxi, and the two of them went into headquarters, where a uniformed officer confronted them at the door, relaxing when he realized they had a right to be here.

Egon decided the policeman was a good idea. He hoped there was one with Winston and Ray, because Winston was still in danger. He wasn't so sure what to think when he peered past the cop and spotted the white-clad pair of agents at Janine's desk. The woman Marella had a briefcase containing a telephone open before him, and was talking into it while her boss sat in one of the comfortable chairs dragged in from Peter's office. He was engaged in a staring match with Slimer, who hovered about a foot in front of his face, arms folded against his lumpy, green chest. There was fascinated interest in the man's one good eye, and Slimer appeared utterly intrigued at the sight of the man. Marella had evidently taken Slimer with utter calm. Not that the man in white had not, but he was interested in spite of himself. Peter grinned at the confrontation and nudged Egon with his elbow, and the physicist found a smile in return.

"Have you caught Reynard yet?" Peter asked, charging over. Slimer at once broke off the staring match and hung an arm around Peter's shoulders, to Venkman's dismay. There was a momentary flurry of activity as Peter pushed away the ghost.

Egon hung back, taking a P.K.E. meter out of his locker and bending his head over it. Ray had taken time to detail Reynard's readings over the phone, and Egon set to work configuring the meter specifically to detect them. He might not be able to tell if Reynard had been here yesterday or even early this morning, but he wanted to be sure the man couldn't sneak up on them now.

"No, there has been no word of him yet. We have two men with your other teammates while they use your equipment to search for him. What is he doing?" Coldsmith-Briggs asked, pointing at Egon.

"He's configuring a P.K.E. meter to read Reynard's biorhythms," Peter said as if it were obvious. He hadn't even had to ask first.

"We've acquired pictures of Reynard from the Vietnam era," Marella said. "Plus computer enhanced projections of how he may appear today. They match the sketch Zeddemore and the park witnesses were able to put together closely enough that we're certain of a match." She held out several sheets of paper, and Peter took them. Egon stared at them over his shoulder. The enhanced projection interested him the most. It was a man with salt and pepper hair, a hard face and a rigid jawline, with eyes like stones.

"Well, I don't like _him_ ," Peter said, frowning at the picture. "I wouldn't trust him to take out the garbage."

"Now take a look at this," Marella said. It was a small campaign poster of a man who resembled the computer enhancement though there was less grey in his hair. His expression was far more genial, although a tinge of coldness remained in his eyes. "Marchand," read the legend at the top of the picture, and at the bottom, "Illinois' next Senator."

"He's running for elective office?" Egon exclaimed. "Ah. And Minneapolis is close enough to Illinois that he feared Hemphill might see the ads?"

"So we believe," Michael replied. "We theorize he's known where the five of you were to be found for a long time. Hemphill would have been the easiest target. He'd assume the Riptide detectives would be warier than the average Vietnam veterans and harder to get the drop on except from ambush, and he'd know you four Ghostbusters were in the public eye. But Hemphill was his first choice. The election is next year, of course. The bulk of the publicity is yet to hit the airwaves. But he's planning. Illinois is a populous state, one from which he might have considerable influence. We've done a great deal of checking. 'Marchand' returned to Chicago a 'war hero'. Apparently the original Frank Marchand was raised in a Catholic orphanage in that city. We've seen his pictures, and we theorize Reynard encountered him in the jungle and chose to steal his identity because there was a considerable physical resemblance between them and because Marchand had no family. Reynard returned to Illinois and stepped into the man's life, three years after he had been reported missing in action. He had the dog tags. He apparently had his letters and papers, and presumably had learned to forge the man's signature. Marchand was not rich, obviously, but since then he has become so. Rich, powerful. For the most part, he's left his old life behind, but obviously he has kept his hand in. Evidently he didn't trust this particular action to his henchmen. Maybe he's taken out other witnesses over the years, other people who might have endangered him. But well before the 1988 election, he meant to have the final five witnesses gone."

"Then we have to stop him," Peter said. "There are enough crooks in politics already."

Marella smiled faintly. "That there are, Dr. Venkman."

"So what are you going to do now?" Peter asked. "Hang out here?"

"There are a great many things to do," Michael returned. "We've already started to implement them. Reynard will never serve in elective office. We already have a team at his campaign headquarters. As for the man himself, that's harder. We've monitored calls since we arrived here."

"I assumed the position of a temp secretary," Marella explained. "We believe Reynard will call to lure Ryder and Allen to a meeting, using Bozinsky as bait. I won't know his voice, but Michael will. I put the phone on speaker, and we're recording all calls, as well as tracing them."

"Then I'll finish the meter's configuration," Egon replied.

"What do you want me to do?" Peter asked.

"Well, Peter, since you ask..."

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" the psychologist queried.

"It's time for the proton packs to be charged," Egon replied. "Come up to the lab. I have work for you to do."

"Work," wailed Peter, then, remembering Marella, he squared his shoulders and tried to appear industrious. "A martyr to science, that's me," he said, winking at the attractive agent.

When she smiled, he bounced up the stairs in a much better frame of mind.

*****

The call didn't come at Ghostbuster Central after all. Ray realized he should have thought of that. Alerted, the Ghostbusters would have talked to the police, and Murray's kidnapping had been reported. Reynard took no chances. He made his call to the Ghostbusters' mobile phone in Ecto-1.

Winston was at the wheel, while Ray rode shotgun, the meter configured to Reynard's biorhythms activated in his hands. He'd given the meter set to detect Murray to Cody, and explained exactly what to do and what to readings to expect. Now Allen sat grimly in the back seat, his eyes never leaving the meter's screen in hopes he might spot the tiniest blip that would lead them to Murray. Nick hung over his shoulder, his body tight with worry and anticipation.

The phone rang and Ray scooped it up. "Ghostbusters' mobile."

"Winston Zeddemore." The voice was cold and intense. Ray blinked and knew without a moment's hesitation who he was talking to. "What have you done to Murray?" he blurted.

"I'm not interested in talking to you, Dr. Stantz. Put Winston Zeddemore on this line right now or I'll hang up."

Conscious of Nick and Cody exclaiming, Ray passed the phone to him. "It's Reynard," he said unnecessarily over his shoulder. "Boy, he sounds mean."

Winston spoke into the phone. "Zeddemore. We want Murray back."

He was silent a moment, then he said, "Yes, they're here with me now. Do you want to talk to-- Okay, I'm listening." He paused for a long time, once said quickly, "Murray?" then he waited again. Finally he said, "I understand. Do you--" He listened a minute, then he handed the phone to Ray. "He hung up."

"Has he got Murray."

"Yes, he put him on the line for a minute. Murray said, 'Tell Cody and Nick not to worry about me, but to protect themselves.'"

"He thinks we'd just leave him hanging out to dry?" Nick exploded. "No way. What did Reynard want?"

"He wants to meet us. Now. In twenty minutes. At pier 29."

"Can we make it over there in time?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, it's over off the West Side Expressway. We would have arrived in time even if we weren't hurrying. But he said to come alone, and I don't think those guys in the other car would go for that."

"Then let us out and we'll grab a cab over," Nick insisted.

They were on Franklin Roosevelt Drive, heading south, and not that far from Ghostbuster Central. "We can cut across," Winston said. "Once we're in normal traffic, we can lose them and head over, or else pull far enough ahead to let us out. Ray, you can keep on driving and maybe they won't realize we're gone."

"That's a bad idea," cried Ray. "It's a trap. He's just waiting to take you out. I think we need the backup."

"If Reynard sees the backup, he'll kill Murray without hesitation," explained Cody. "We can grab a cab; he'll be expecting the Ecto-1, not a cab."

"Come on, he's chosen the site well," Ray said. "He could be on one of those big loaders and take you down before you even see him. I think it's dangerous."

"We _know_ it's dangerous," Nick said impatiently. "But he's got Murray. That changes everything. We have to go. Murray's alive now, but if we don't go, he won't stay that way. It's the only chance the little guy's got."

Ray started to protest, but Cody cut him off. "It's all right, Ray, we're detectives. We do this kind of thing all the time."

"You don't even have guns," argued Stantz, his face worried. He frowned as Winston changed direction and cut into Lower Manhattan. "Winston, tell them it's crazy."

"There are a couple of proton packs in the back," Winston replied. "He shot Janine, Ray. He didn't even care. He won't hesitate to kill Murray if we don't show up."

"That's no reason to give him the rest of you. You're just offering your heads on a platter. It's crazy. Egon and Peter would say you shouldn't do it."

"Egon and Peter don't have their buddy out there as hostage," Nick insisted. "We're going."

"And I'm with you," Winston replied. "I can read a meter. We can check for Murray. We can make sure we're coming up on Reynard before he even sees us."

Reminded of the meters, Ray hesitated. "Well, I don't like it," he said.

"I don't like it either, Ray," Winston told him. "But I think we have to do it. We tried to do what we could in Vietnam and didn't have any luck. It's our responsibility. We saw Reynard kill that reporter, so it's up to us to do something about it."

Ray shook his head stubbornly. "You _did_ something about it. You think those people from the Firm can't stop Reynard? It's what they're trained for." He felt like he had to be the voice of caution, a role he was not well suited for. Peter would have laughed to think of Ray being the prudent one, but Ray was sure Winston was arguing to go off and get killed. He didn't think he'd be able to face Egon and Peter if he let that happen. On the other hand, they'd have meters, they'd have an advantage Reynard might not expect.

"Reynard will take off if he knows there are feds involved," Cody said. "He won't run from _us_."

"It's a done deal, Ray," Winston told him. He glanced in the rear view mirror. "Pull around this corner and we'll take off. You slide over and keep driving. They should follow you long enough for us to grab a cab and be gone."

They pulled around a corner and the three of them jumped out, complete with two throwers and two proton packs. When Ray last saw them, Nick was arguing with Cody over which of them should have the privilege of wearing the portable nuclear accelerator.

Ray slid quickly behind the wheel and pulled into traffic, feeling very uncomfortable with himself. He knew it had been a mistake; he knew what Peter and Egon would say. Winston wasn't hotheaded like Nick--or like Peter--and Cody did seem to be fairly reasonable, but Reynard had set the stage, and a high-powered rifle had a far greater range than a particle thrower did. Even if they tried to get the drop on Reynard by using the P.K.E. meters, Ray was afraid it would all go terribly wrong.

The telephone rang almost immediately, and he eyed it with the horrified fascination he might have worn when confronting a poisonous snake coiled in his path. Reluctantly he stretched out his hand for it. "Ghostbusters' mobile."

"This is agent Delgado," said a familiar voice, and Ray glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the car right behind him, and the dark haired man speaking into the cell phone. "Stay away from Pier 29."

"How did you know..." Ray groaned as the obvious answer struck him. "You bugged the car at the airport, didn't you? Gosh, Peter and Egon are going to be mad at me."

"They aren't the only ones," Delgado replied. "Pull over. We're going to put an agent in the car."

Ray obeyed reluctantly. When Delgado himself joined Ray, he heaved a sigh. "You'll keep them out of trouble, won't you?" he asked hopefully.

"We'll do what we can," the Firm operative replied.

Ray hoped it would be enough.

*****

Cody frowned at the meter in his hand and wished it was a gun instead. He hadn't seen a single ghost since encountering Ray and Winston, and the concept of using a ghost-detection device to track Reynard seemed about as likely as using a James Bond gadget. Although the police at the airport had been respectful of the Ghostbusters, Cody still found the whole concept bizarre. All right, so he'd encountered a ghost before, so he had a so-called 'jinxed' boat. He could buy the occasional oddity but not the stream of bizarre specters the _National Enquirer_ raved about. From the expression on Nick's face, he was even less fond of the excursion into Ghostbuster technology. He'd waved away Winston's offer of the meter, leaving it for Cody, and had opted instead for the spare proton pack. Cody had told him he looked like the Orkin man in it, winning matching scowls from Nick and Winston.

Winston's meter was set for Reynard's frequency, and Cody's for Murray's. As they crept along the edge of the waterfront, seeking what cover they could, Zeddemore's meter pinged faintly, but Cody's was unresponsive. He leaned in close to Winston. "I don't think it's working."

Winston checked it. "It's working," he said grimly. "I'm detecting faint readings of Reynard, but Murray isn't in range."

"But he has to be," Nick exploded. "You heard him on the phone."

"That was almost twenty minutes ago," Winston replied. "He may have moved him out of range--or he may have called from another location and come here, leaving Murray behind."

"Or he might have tape recorded Murray's voice and played it over the phone," Cody realized. Taking down Reynard without knowing Murray's location was a risky maneuver. On one hand, it would mean Reynard couldn't return and kill him, but it also meant Murray was a prisoner in a place where he might not be found. He could be handcuffed in place, gagged so he couldn't alert anyone, and he might not be found until it was too late. Cody felt sick in the pit of his stomach. Poor Murray. He was a great friend, a brilliant man, but he wasn't the physical type, and he wasn't used to situations that required brute strength or military training. He could be lying in an abandoned warehouse, hurt, afraid, waiting for his buddies to come and find him. And from the way the meters hadn't begun to react until they were nearly on top of Pier 29, Cody knew finding him that way in a city the size of New York could take days, possibly days Murray didn't have.

Everything went wrong all at once. Winston let out a squawk and cried, "He's moving. He's moving further away. Fast." He shook the meter. "Damn. It's like he grabbed a car and took off."

Ten seconds later police vehicles and unmarked cars converged on the main loader of Pier 29, sirens blazing. "Shit," growled Nick. "They're onto us."

"But how did Reynard know?" asked Winston.

"Planted a bug in Ecto? He could have done that at Central Park, or even yesterday," Cody realized. "He waited as long as he could before he took off in hopes of getting in a shot, but there wasn't time for him to take us."

"Now what do we do?" Nick demanded in frustration. He slammed his fist down on the nearby railing.

If Murray's voice had been taped earlier, he could well be dead already, Cody knew. Now Bozinsky had seen Reynard. If he were alive at all, it was because he was part of a contingency plan. This attempt had failed. He'd try again, and maybe, with luck, he'd hold on to Murray until then.

Ecto-1 arrived, an abashed Ray behind the wheel, one of the agents beside him. Ray jumped out and ran over. "Gosh, I'm glad you guys are okay. I didn't tell them, Winston. They bugged Ecto."

"Then maybe Reynard did too," Winston replied. "Because he took off right before everybody showed up here. We lost him."

*****

"Nick. Quit pacing."

Ryder flashed a frustrated glance at his partner. "It's hard, y'know," he said. "I just wish I knew if the Boz was all right."

Peter could sympathize. He felt a little happier knowing Janine was going to be all right, and Egon had come out of her room with his equilibrium restored, but the wait wasn't over yet. He wasn't sure putting Ryder and Allen together with Winston was a good idea, even if there were a couple of agents on site. One of them sat at the kitchen table, a walkie talkie lying before him, while another prowled the third floor, making periodic excursions to the roof. He had night scopes that he used to survey the neighborhood. Peter suspected there were other men outside. Reynard would have to be crazy to try to attack the three men tonight.

Or maybe just good. Peter heaved a sigh. He sympathized with Ryder. Pacing might have helped him, too. Every now and then, he glanced over at Winston, who was brooding in the corner of the couch. Next to him, Ray huddled, sniffling occasionally. Finishing up the couch, Cody Allen sprawled in the corner pretending to watch television but braced to spring to his feet at the first chance of action.

Egon sat in the wing chair, a meter on his lap. He had bounced back remarkably after talking to Janine, and he'd been working on boosting the meter's gain for some time now, commenting to Ray in techie talk every so often, casting worried glances up at Peter every time Ray managed one of his monosyllabic responses. He'd been fiddling with it all evening, ever since they'd finished the pizzas the agents had picked up and brought with them. The only good thing about the whole evening was the absence of Slimer. It meant Peter could enjoy his pizza without worrying about being dive-bombed by the spud.

Ray projected unhappiness, not even reassured by Janine's guaranteed recovery. Part of that was the cold that still lingered; Ray held a box of Kleenex in his lap that he used from time to time. Peter suspected he was partly blaming himself because Janine had gone on the bust in his place, but Peter had told him right up front it wasn't his fault, and Ray had said, "I know, Peter." Whether he believed that or not was another story. Still, Winston was still in danger, and Ray had come to know Murray best of any of the Ghostbusters. He couldn't help being worried about him.

Suddenly Nick let out an alarmed yell, and Cody came to his feet in one smooth, instinctive movement, starting for Nick. Peter reached for his thrower only to relax in amusement when he realized what had startled Ryder.

Slimer had come home.

The little green ghost drifted into the room, spotted the stranger, noticed the agent at the dining table, then spied the empty pizza boxes spread across table beside him. "Oboy, pizza," he squealed in excitement and dove for the boxes, landing with a splat that forced the agent to his feet, gun leveled at the spud. Slimer noticed the weapon at the same time he realized there was no pizza left, and he shrieked piercingly and shrieked, "Ray! Ray, help Slimer."

"Don't shoot, it's all right," Winston yelled. "It's only Slimer, our tame ghost."

The Firm operative relaxed and the other one paused, halfway down the spiral staircase from the third floor, taking in the situation. Clearly neither agent had encountered anything like Slimer before, but they were trained well at the Firm. Both men relaxed, as much as such men ever relax, and the second man went upstairs again.

Peter turned his attention to Nick and Cody.

After his first yell, Nick had frozen, studying the ghost, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. Cody, who had reacted to his panic with the automatic response of a buddy to a friend in trouble, held fascination in his expression, but Nick glared at Slimer.

"He won't hurt you," Peter said reassuringly, trying not to appear as amused as he felt. Okay, so he wasn't trying very hard, but he couldn't help it. He loved it when skeptics received their comeuppance, and Nick had proven he was a considerable skeptic from the moment he walked into Ghostbuster Central. He'd looked around with a disparaging eye and a cocky walk, and Peter had disliked him on sight. Clearly the feeling had been reciprocated.

Peter's dislike had gradually abated during the endless evening. Nick was worried about Murray, as worried as Peter would have been if one of his own team was missing. And Peter was a good psychologist. That prickly manner of Nick's was a defense mechanism. Peter didn't know where he was coming from yet; he hadn't had a chance to get to know him. But he had come to believe there had been a long, rocky road to bring Nick Ryder to this point. A large part of Peter's dislike was because he recognized in Nick an image of himself. A hasty temper, a sarcastic edge, the real self well-shielded, except to Cody, whom he trusted completely. Himself slow to trust, Peter recognized the same condition in Nick.

But he couldn't help getting a charge out of Nick's reaction to Slimer.

"He's just our ghost," Ray said much more easily, or as least as anyone could be with the spud plastered against his chest. "Come on, Slimer, let go. They aren't going to shoot you."

Slimer gabbled in annoyance about a 'nasty man with gun' but he let himself be pried free, casting a baleful glance in the direction of the dining room.

"They're here to protect Winston, Slimer," Egon said in his deep voice. "Don't be alarmed."

"Yeah, Egon's right," Winston said. "Forget it, Spud. I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine. Nick, Cody, this is Slimer."

"Go ahead," Peter said wickedly. "Shake hands."

"With _that_?" Nick rolled his eyes at Cody.

Cody's amused smile was mostly hidden by his mustache, but Nick saw it. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he demanded.

Making no attempt to hide his own smile, Peter said, "Go on, make friends. Pretend it's a strange dog. After they sniff you, they know you're okay."

Ryder transferred the glare to him. "You're enjoying this too," he returned sourly. "How do I know it's even real?"

"You'll know once you shake hands," Egon said dryly. He and Peter exchanged an expression that needed no words, their eyes brimming with humor.

"Man, who would have a job like this," Nick groaned. "Cody, do you buy this? Think we're being set up?"

"I'm sure of it," Cody said. He shrugged and took the fall, stretching out his hand. "Hello, Slimer."

Slimer grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously. "Hi, Nick."

"That one's Cody," Winston corrected.

"Hi, Cody."

Allen's face was a mixture of doubt, disbelief, awe, and just plain disgust. When Slimer let go, he stared at his hand unhappily. "I liked the ghost _we_ had better," he said.

Nick's face darkened. Cody had mentioned their ghost earlier, and Peter realized mention of it had reminded Nick of Murray. Cody knew it too, but instead of saying so, he made an ostentatious display of wiping off his hand.

Slimer presented himself in front of the solemn-faced Rider, and said brightly, "Hi, Nick."

"Don't hurt the little guy's feelings," Peter said in an undertone. "We have to live with him, and the spud's not a pretty sight when he's sulking."

"He's not a pretty sight now," Nick returned automatically, winning an offended, "Hey," from the little ghost.

"Come on, Nick, if I did it, you can," Cody replied. "Guess you'll have to believe their stories now. He's definitely real."

Nick poked out his hand fast before one of the Ghostbusters could accuse him of being afraid of Slimer. A part of him probably was afraid; after all the spud was totally outside his realm of experience. Peter had to hand it to him, he had courage.

Slimer grasped Nick's hand energetically. The detective's face fell.

Partly concealing his enjoyment of the dark-haired man's discomfiture, Peter said, "See, he's not so bad. And you'll note he's real."

"He's what we call a 'nether entity'," Egon explained. "Beings like him are not the conventional ghosts most people are accustomed to."

"Yeah, ghosts like Slimer come from places like the Netherworld," volunteered Ray, pausing to sneeze.

Nick shot a look at Cody that said all too clearly, 'they're pulling our legs'. Cody wasn't quite as sure, but he glanced at Winston for confirmation.

"He's right, guys," Zeddemore confirmed. "Man, I didn't believe any of this when I took the job, either. Even now, I have to stop and think about it every now and then."

"The _Netherworld_?" Cody let his skepticism fill the word.

"Sure, it's just another dimensional plane," said Ray.

"Yeah, and we've got frequent dimensional miles, don't we, guys?" Peter asked.

"Your problem," Egon said instructively to the two detectives, "is that you set artificial limits upon reality."

"Oh yeah?" Nick challenged. "I thought our problem was that four guys were trying to snow us."

"Egon doesn't snow people," Peter said hotly.

"Yeah, right," returned Nick, whirling to confront Peter. "I think you've been trying to feed us a lot of bull all evening."

Peter was furious. "Listen, jerk, our secretary's lying in the hospital and your buddy's missing. There's a maniac out there with a gun. The last thing I want to do is feed anybody any bull. You've come in here and acted like you're sure we scam people for a living. You never once gave us the benefit of the doubt. Just because the sight of Slimer startled you, you're bending over backward to make us forget your reaction by challenging us. Listen to me, because I'm going to make this short and simple. Ghosts are real. Our job is real. How do you think we found out about Reynard in the first place? If you have trouble with that, it's your problem, not mine. If you can't even believe your own eyes--" he gestured at Slimer-- "then at least bug off and don't get in my face about it."

"You son of a bitch," Nick began, but Cody grabbed his arm.

"Come on, buddy, let it go, he's right," he said.

"I don't have to take his attitude," Nick snapped in return but he let Cody pull him away.

Egon went to Peter's side. "Janine would not appreciate this, Peter," he said gravely.

"Yeah, well, he started it."

"Leave such behavior where it belongs, on the playground," Egon continued. "I understand the temptation to put a skeptic in his place. In a sense he is calling us bad scientists, and I enjoy that no more than you do. But he's worried about his friend. None of us are at our best. Let's not make it worse."

"Working hard on that amateur psychology degree, aren't you, Spengs?" Peter asked, relaxing slightly. Egon could do that, reach him when no one else could.

"Egon is right, Nick," Cody insisted. "We'll all feel better when we free Murray and stop Reynard."

Peter hesitated. He was still angry but he was a fair man and he knew Egon was right. "Let's call it finished," he said to Nick. He wasn't fond of Nick but he had a good idea where he was coming from. "Truce?" He held out his hand, ignoring the presence of the agent, who had come in from the dining room to watch the almost fight.

Nick hesitated until Cody gave him a jab with his elbow, then he grimaced and stuck out his hand to Peter. It was one of the shortest handshakes on record, but it did clear the air.

Egon retreated and picked up his P.K.E. meter again, and Winston came over to join the two detectives. "Never mind Pete, guys," he said. "We'll figure it out. I wish we could send Slimer to hunt for Murray."

"Send that ghost out? But he's never met Murray," Cody objected.

"Could we send him to check out the neighborhood and try to find Reynard?" Ray suggested. He bounded to his feet and came over to join them. "I've taught Slimer a lot of tricks. He's not smart like we are, but he's smart in his own way."

"Ray's always teaching him new tricks," Winston said.

"Yeah, and some of them even work," Peter conceded. He grinned at Ray. "Think he could track down Reynard?" he asked.

"Maybe. If I showed him the P.K.E. meter and tried to configure it..." He returned to the couch. "Slimer, come over here. I want to show you something."

The spud drifted over, and Winston turned to Nick and Cody. "The deal is we have to take a lot of crap from people who don't believe in what we do. I admit it can look pretty weird, and I guess there are folks who think it's all special effects. But it isn't. We've been in some situations that still give me the odd nightmare. I thought like you once, but now I'm a convert. There's a lot of weird stuff out there. People tend to class us with the UFO weirdos and the astrology buffs, and all that New Age stuff. Tell you what, guys, when this is all over, I'll take you down and let you see what we have in our containment unit. That'll convince you, if Slimer hasn't."

"You were right about Doug Hemphill, too, weren't you?" Cody asked. "Because it's true. Reynard is back, and you couldn't have known it otherwise."

Peter glanced over at Ray, who was talking energetically to Slimer. "Anything, Tex?"

"I'll try," Ray promised.

Peter dropped down on the couch beside him, avoiding Nick until he calmed down. "What about it, Spud? Can you do it?"

"I think I can convey it to him. If I run the meter and let him touch it and get a feel for the energy, it might work." He went off into a long description, sounding quite Spenglerian in his vocabulary. Peter let the words wash over his head, picking up a vague sense of them, content to listen to Ray's excitement. It sounded good. Ray had been so quiet since Janine was hurt that it did Peter good to see him finally starting to unwind.

Ray grinned ear to ear and concluded, "This is really neat, Peter. I bet there's a way we can train Slimer to find certain types of ghosts. That'd be easier than biorhythms. Slimer was never very good about finding one of us when we were in trouble."

"Yeah, and with your love of Lassie movies, I'd have thought that was one of the first things you'd teach him. You know, go out and rescue Ranger Bob, that kind of thing."

"He becomes confused when one of us is in trouble, Peter."

"He's not the only one," Peter said. Okay, so he'd come down pretty hard on Nick Ryder. But then Nick was the type of person who asked for it...just like Peter himself.

He glanced up and saw that Nick wasn't talking to Cody and Winston any longer. He'd taken off during the course of Ray's mini-lecture. Egon was gone too. Maybe he'd taken the detective down to show him the containment unit. The physicist had a natural urge to prove his scientific worth when it was challenged.

"Hey, Winston, where's Egon?" he asked.

"Isn't he with you?" Winston turned around, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of Egon's empty chair. "That's weird.

"He went to check the containment thing," the agent at the dining table said. "The other guy went after him. Probably finds all this as weird as I do."

Winston nodded and turned to Cody, but the other detective was staring toward the stairs, a frown on his face. Suddenly that sent a prickle of alarm up Peter's spine.

Ray's meter beeped softly.

The occultist erupted from the couch, crying, "Reynard!"

Peter's heart plummeted right into his stomach. Egon had cranked up the power on his meter, but to achieve full gain, he'd drawn power away from the sound function. He might have picked up Reynard earlier. He'd been unlike himself ever since Janine was shot. If he'd realized Reynard was here...

"EGON!" Peter lunged for the stairs.

******

In the general course of things, Egon Spengler considered himself a rational man. He left the hot-tempered actions to Peter, but he knew he had a temper every bit as strong as Peter's. He simply controlled it better. Logic and science dominated his actions; it was irrational to go off half cocked when controlled behavior served his purpose better. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in his adult life when he had totally lost his temper. Once had been when Walter Peck shut down the containment unit, another time when a man had disparaged his idol, Albert Einstein. Like any man, he'd been occasionally angry, but it hadn't dominated his actions.

But today, a stone killer had shot Janine, and she had come perilously close to dying. Egon knew he loved Janine, knew that one day he might be inclined to do something permanent about his feelings. But the feelings existed, and when she was hurt, reason and control had been pushed violently aside. To make it worse, the man who had hurt her meant to kill Winston and had kidnapped an innocent victim. Egon knew the agents were there to protect Winston, and that people were searching for Murray, tracking down leads. A hotel bill had been found in the abandoned police car, and Reynard had evidently stayed there under a false name but he hadn't brought Murray there. His attempt to lure Nick and Cody to a rendezvous had failed. Egon had not stated it aloud, but he believed Murray Bozinsky was dead. Unless Reynard had been making other plans to attack Winston, Nick, and Cody and hadn't taken the time to kill a helpless hostage yet, there was no reason to keep the computer man alive.

Egon respected Bozinsky's intellect. To wantonly slay anyone with such a brilliant mind was a crime of great wickedness. To gun down accidentally the woman Egon cared for most had not stopped pushing at him.

So when he gazed at the meter and saw Reynard's distinctive pattern on the screen, Egon Spengler didn't hesitate. He acted. Murmuring an excuse to the agent in the dining room, he had gone down quietly past him, paused long enough to don a proton pack, and let himself out the rear door of the firehall. Reynard's position, which he determined by consistent readings, was such that he could not see the back door.

He slipped out into the night, knowing he was on familiar ground and that his meter would guide him to Reynard even if he used a roundabout means of finding him.

Holding onto the image of Janine, small and pale in the hospital bed, the tiny fingers curling weakly into his own, he stalked Reynard with all the skill he'd learned as a Ghostbuster.

The meter pointed him out before Egon actually saw the shadowy figure in the alley across the street from headquarters. He had taken refuge behind a dumpster. He wore night scopes over his eyes, and he held a high-powered rifle in his hands. He wasn't looking behind him but was watching the illuminated second floor of the firehall. If Nick, Cody, or Winston came too close to those windows, they would be sitting targets.

Egon knew there were agents out here, too, concealed in the darkness. Raising his eyes, he tried to pick out the one on the roof of headquarters, but he saw nothing there, no movement.

Minding his steps so that no sound would disturb his prey, he stalked Reynard, drawing his thrower with silent ease. He powered up a short distance away so the sound would insinuate itself gradually, subliminally, a part of the night.

He was right up to the killer before the man even had an idea he was there, and before he could act, Egon rammed the tip of the thrower up against the man's neck.

"This is a particle thrower," he said. "It is connected to a portable nuclear accelerator and we used them to take down Gozer. Even at low power, I can guarantee to separate your head from your neck at point blank range," he growled. "Freeze, Reynard."

The former agent must have heard the fierceness in his tone, and he believed it. He went as rigid as a statue.

"Very good," Egon said. "Now, slowly, put down your weapon."

Motion at both ends of the alley startled him, but he didn't flinch. Reynard tried to move, and then a number of things happened at once.

"Drop it!" yelled a voice from close at hand, and a car on the street in front of them turned on its headlights. Reynard yanked himself away from the thrower, causing Egon's finger to close on the trigger, sending a jagged burst of protonic energy into the night, grazing Reynard and making him stagger. Someone yelled like an Indian war whoop and tackled Egon around the knees. As he went down, his energy beam struck the dumpster and took it out in a sizzle of brilliant light. Shots rang out across the night and Reynard grabbed his rifle, flung himself flat, and scuttled unsteadily into the shadows. Running feet converged from all directions.

"Cease fire," a voice bellowed close at hand, and a woman yelled, "He's getting away."

The thrower squirted from Egon's hand and shut off automatically, and a voice said in his ear, "All right, man?"

"Ryder?" How had Ryder arrived in time to knock him down?

" _Egon_!" Peter's frantic yell rang through the night. Lights came on in every window around them and distant sirens wailed.

"I had him," Egon cried. "Why did you jump me?"

"My god, there were agents all over the place. They saw you move and thought it was Reynard," Nick replied breathlessly. "They were gonna fill you so full of holes you'd have been able to do double duty as a colander."

"Egon! Where is he? If you've hurt him..." Peter fought his way through a gathering circle of Firm operatives, policemen and curious bystanders, jerking to a halt when he saw Egon sprawled on the filthy pavement. In the light from a sudden burst of spotlights off the various cars, Venkman appeared white and shaken. "You better be okay, Egon, because if you're not I'm going to break your neck."

Behind him, Ray, Winston, and Cody arrived in a sudden rush, surrounded by instant bodyguards.

"I'm unhurt," Egon replied. Abruptly he felt terribly foolish.

"What were you thinking of?" Peter cried, reaching down and hauling him to his feet. "You're not James Bond. Sneaking around out here with your thrower...." He caught the physicist by the upper arms and shook him. The worry in his face was mirrored in Ray's and Winston's.

"I thought I could stop him," Egon replied.

"You thought you could stop him? You thought you could _stop_ him?" Peter exploded. "Are you _crazy_?"

"Nick, are you okay, buddy?" Cody demanded, hauling his partner to his feet and looking him up and down in much the same way Peter had done Egon. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"I saw him head down the stairs, and I had a feeling--there wasn't time to do anything but follow him. If I'd said anything, the whole lot of you would have been there and Reynard would have bolted."

"Where is he?" Ray demanded, staring at the alley, now full of police and agents. "Egon, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Ray," Egon said, though the landing had jarred his earlier injury.

"What were you _thinking_ , homeboy?" Winston growled at him. "Man, the last thing I want is anybody else to take a bullet in my place."

"In anybody's place," Peter said tightly. "Where's Reynard."

"Gosh, Egon, you didn't neutronize him?" asked Ray, staring around wide-eyed. "It'd take full protonic reversal..."

"No, he wasn't 'neutronized', whatever that is," Nick replied. "He escaped. He was moving kind of funny, but he went off that way," gesturing with his hand down the alley.

Half the crowd promptly moved away in that direction, their movements so purposeful Egon realized the firehall had been watched the whole time. But that begged the question of how Reynard had managed to come as close as he did, to have a clear shot of the second floor windows before Egon had jumped him.

"Moving kind of funny?" Cody echoed.

"You _did_ hit him," gasped Ray.

"I grazed him. In other words, he's probably in mild shock, his system thrown into temporary disorder."

"Explain," said a voice from the crowd, and Sgt. Anderson emerged. "I thought being hit by one of your weapons would disintegrate him."

"It would at normal power," Egon replied. "I had adjusted the power down. At that level a direct hit would have rendered him unconscious, and it might have unbalanced his electrolytes, but it would not have killed him."

"You told him you could..." Nick began, then he fell silent, remembering Egon's words and obviously approving of them.

"Then he might be easier to catch," Anderson replied. "God, Spengler, you're the last guy I would have expected to pull a stunt like this."

"He was trying to save Winston's life," Peter defended Egon, though he was still angry at him for taking the risk. Egon could see it in Peter's face and feel it in the fingers that still dug into his upper arms.

"Well, this is enough for one night," Anderson insisted. "Back to the building--which we will check out thoroughly to make sure he didn't vanish _inside_ while everyone was focused here."

"We have that covered." The woman Marella materialized out of the crowd. "As soon as we realized what was happening, we dispatched men inside. It would have been intelligent of Reynard to go to ground there, and no one has doubted his intelligence. However, he did nothing of the kind."

"No, now he'll go kill Murray," Cody said heavily. "If he isn't already dead."

Nick froze, then he whirled on Egon. "If you've endangered the Boz..." he growled.

"Egon didn't do that," Peter snapped. "And you know it. He shouldn't have been here in the first place."

Since this must have been exactly what both Nick and Cody had been thinking since their colleague's abduction, Nick's face darkened and he took a menacing step in Venkman's direction.

There was no saying what he would have said or done, but Peter suddenly stiffened like a bloodhound on the trail and yelled in outrage, "Egon, you're bleeding." Catching hold of Egon's wrist, he raised his wounded arm. Blood had spotted the bandages. The fall must have broken his earlier wound open again. "You said you weren't hurt," Peter accused him as if Egon had concealed the injury on purpose.

"Gosh, Egon, we better call the paramedics," Ray fussed.

"Nonsense. It was never more than a scratch in the first place. I must have landed on it."

"We're going in. Right now." Peter's voice was stern as he steered the physicist across the street toward Ghostbuster Central, but Egon heard the worry underneath it and didn't fight him, or Ray and Winston when they crowded around him.

"You're lucky, Egon," Peter said. "If your arm wasn't already hurt, I'd _break_ it. If you ever do anything this stupid again...."

"You'll compare it to actions of your own," Egon responded.

"Oh well, yeah..." Peter seemed mildly abashed, but the arm around Egon's shoulders didn't loosen.

"But what about Boz?" Nick complained behind them.

"We'll find--Omigod, Nick, you're bleeding, too." Cody's voice held sheer panic, then he dragged Nick under the streetlight. "Nick, you're bleeding! You were hit! Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Nick stared down at his left arm in astonishment. He must have been so hyped up in the heart of the crisis that he hadn't felt the pain until it was called to his attention. Sucking in his breath abruptly, he said, "I didn't know..."

"You didn't know you'd been _shot_?" Cody tugged at the stained material of his shirtsleeve, fingering the tear. "How bad is it, buddy?"

"I think it's just a graze," Nick replied.

"We need paramedics." Peter turned, his arm still protectively around Egon's shoulders. "Anderson? Marella? Anybody. Send for the paramedics now."

Nick shot Cody a reassuring grin, then turned his eyes to Peter. "You're not worried about _me_ now?" he asked half-suspiciously.

Peter's grip around Egon's shoulders tightened involuntarily. "You saved Egon's life," he said as if that made all the difference. "He gonna be okay, Cody?"

Cody was still fussing over Nick, as protective toward him as Peter, Ray, and Winston were to Egon. "If he doesn't pull any more crazy stunts, I might not break his neck."

"Come on, Code," Nick reassured him. "It's only a scratch. You think I'd be standing here like this if I was in any danger? Boz is the one who's in trouble. Stick a few band-aids on this and then we can go and rescue him."

Cody guided him protectively to the firehall, alternately fussing over him and chiding him for his recklessness. Egon couldn't help being grateful for it, though. He'd been an idiot to try the stunt he had, and he was uncomfortably aware that Janine would give him a very bad time about it as soon as she was able to.

Sensing that, Peter said under his breath, "Worried about what Janine's going to say to you? You don't have to be."

"I don't?" Egon queried.

"No. By the time she comes home, I'll have said it to you much louder and much angrier than she ever will. Are you _crazy_?"

"Very likely, Peter," Egon said.

*****

Murray Bozinsky had awakened from his second drug-induced nap feeling sick and shaky, and at first he was too confused to realize where he was or what had happened to him. For a long time he lay half-dozing, his mind wandering randomly through half-realized thought. He spent some time imagining a process to add power and memory to the Roboz, caught up in the cleverness of his plan only to have it fade away completely as his mind cleared. Disappointed, he struggled to remember it; he might have had one of the computer breakthroughs of the century here. But it was gone; it wouldn't return.

After awhile he began to wonder where he was, and once the thought crystallized, he couldn't stop thinking about it. It wasn't his own bed; his bunk on the Riptide was much more comfortable, though narrower, and it didn't smell like this one did. The bedclothes were dusty and made him sneeze. Sneezing made his head ache and, once conscious of that, he became aware of a series of other aches and pains. Still dazed and doubtful, he opened his eyes.

He lay in a big, echoing place, dimly lit from outside streetlights filtering in through small, dusty windows high overhead. There were no inside lights, so he couldn't see details, but the streetlights made him realize it was night.

Reynard! As his memory cleared, he remembered the encounter with the terrorist at the airport. What had Reynard done to him? There had been a gun...

Murray panicked, wondering if he had been shot, then a fuzzy memory of a small dart protruding from his chest reminded him that Reynard had chosen to tranquilize him instead. The place where the dart had struck him was sore, but it hadn't done any permanent damage. The drug had run its course, and that had taken time. It was night now, and he'd been hit--what time had it been?--shortly after ten o'clock. It was early April but not yet Daylight Savings Time, so it would be what? Probably after seven anyway? He'd been out a long time.

He vaguely remembered waking up once before, trying weakly to struggle, and calling the guys' names. "Talk to them," Reynard had said and shoved an object at Murray. He'd thought it was a phone for a second, long enough for him to speak to them, then he realized it was a tape recorder. He tried to struggle, to yell a warning, but Reynard turned it off and bent over him. He felt the prick of a needle and then everything faded again. Now he was more confused than before, and his head ached. But he was gradually coming to his senses. This time he wouldn't warn Reynard he was awake. He'd keep quiet until he understood what was going on.

_Cody? Nick?_ He burst upward in alarm, forgetting his good resolutions in his worry for his friends. "Guys, are you here?" he called, then clapped his hands over his mouth. He didn't want Reynard to learn he was awake. But then he realized two things: he was alone in the echoing place, possibly a deserted building or abandoned warehouse, and he wasn't tied up.

What did that mean? Why not tie him, unless Reynard meant to return before he woke up? That was crazy. Reynard couldn't guarantee that. Traffic alone might hold him up; Murray had been in New York before and remembered being caught in traffic jams. He'd been crazy not to bind Murray, and while he might be obsessed, nobody ever said he was stupid.

Murray tried to sit up and discovered Reynard's precaution. There was a handcuff tight around his ankle, chaining him to the bed.

"Nuts," he muttered, frustrated and worried. The cuff was so tight it had partly shut off circulation to his foot; flexing it hurt, but he did it anyway, afraid of cutting off circulation completely.

"Nick and Cody are going to be really worried," he said aloud. Then, frightened, he realized why he had been taken. "Oh, no, I'm the bait. He's gonna use me to kill _them_."

That scared him, not only for himself, though he couldn't help but be scared, but because it meant Nick and Cody could have been lured to a remote location. They might already be dead.

A cold, miserable sensation took possession of Murray's already-queasy stomach, and he was afraid he would throw up. For a few seconds he concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths, holding himself utterly still, and the sensations retreated but it didn't go away. If the guys were dead... He didn't want to _think_ about that. He'd been so alone before he found his two best friends. He couldn't bear the thought of going back to working in a lab without the two of them, becoming just another computer geek without a life. But they were smart; they'd been M.P.s before they became detectives and they knew their way around. They wouldn't be caught! They wouldn't!

"Okay, Murray, it's up to you," he told himself sternly. "You have to get out of here right away. You're smarter than Reynard." The thought reassured him momentarily, but then he realized that Reynard knew his own particular area of expertise far better than Murray did. He'd heard of smart men who had been unable to program a VCR. He'd never understood that; it was easy. But he didn't know anything about how hit men operated, or at least only what he'd learned in the last couple of years since he'd teamed up with Cody and Nick. Usually the physical part of their jobs was left to them while Murray supplied brain power.

The first thing to do was to escape the warehouse. He was alert now, and had movement, even though his foot was chained up to the metal frame of the bed. _Okay, Boz_ , he told himself, _You're a scientist. How do you free yourself_?

The warehouse, or whatever it was, probably was locked, but the bed was the main problem. He couldn't wander through the streets of New York towing a bed behind him. At the very idea, he gave a crow of laughter. No, he'd have to dump the cuff.

Of course Reynard hadn't left a key handy. And when Murray checked his pockets, he found his wallet, but nothing else. His keys, his pocket knife with sixteen wonderful attachments, even his toenail clippers were gone, leaving him no way to pick the lock.

Okay, he couldn't do that. But could he take the bed apart? _I bet Reynard didn't think of that._

Wishing for additional light, Murray studied the bed frame. It was made of wood, and fastened together with metal bolts that were set in holes in the back of the headboard. With the short length of chain in the cuffs, he couldn't reach them. What about the footboards? Scrunching around, he leaned over and felt with his fingertips. Boss! There were inserts there, too. He could feel the sides of the hexagonal nut, but there wasn't a lot of room to work it, enough to insert a tool, but not enough for fingers still clumsy from being drugged. Besides, if the nut was tight on the bolt, he'd never loosen it. Probing cautiously, he discovered it was slightly loose, but he couldn't really manage to move it. It would take hours, and Murray didn't have hours.

_Okay, Murray, you have to move it. There has to be a way to do it. Reynard could come back any minute._ He pondered, then he smiled eagerly. The bed was a cheap one; Reynard had made do with what he had at hand, probably judging from the ease of his capture of Murray at the airport that he wasn't particularly fit or clever. Wrong. Murray might not have muscles like Nick's, but he was especially clever. If the cheap bed had been sitting here a long time, it was not in great shape. It would probably fall apart with very little exertion.

Positioning himself carefully, Murray started to rock the bed in a lengthwise movement. It made his stomach twist and his head pound, but he forced himself to ignore the unpleasant symptoms, rocking harder and harder. The bed wobbled more and more with each movement, but so did Murray's stomach. It became a race what would give first, but finally the bed gave a great lurch and came apart in a heap on the floor, the motion yanking painfully at Murray's ankle and spilling him roughly on the filthy concrete.

But the bed fell apart, and it was the work of seconds to detach the footboard and yank the cuff loose.

Walking around the streets of New York with a loose handcuff trailing from his ankle didn't seem like a good idea, so Murray tucked the free end into his sock. It felt odd and would probably pop out from time to time, but it would be okay because the police could unlock it later. His foot felt funny, but he could put weight on it even if movement dug the cuff painfully into his flesh. He ignored that. What was important was leaving this place before Reynard returned. Murray had been a match for the bed, but he knew he couldn't take on Reynard.

The door was locked. He wasn't surprised. He was sure from the rattle it made when he shook it that it was padlocked on the outside. If he'd been Nick or Cody, he might have tried to kick it in, but the hinges looked new, and he knew he couldn't do that. Maybe there was another way out.

Then as he stood there, measuring the distance to the high windows and wondering if he climb up there, he heard footsteps approaching. They were unsteady footprints; they staggered like a drunk's. Maybe it wasn't Reynard, maybe it was a wino hunting for a place to crash for the night. Murray opened his mouth to yell for help, and suddenly closed it again when he heard the padlock rattle. Whoever it was had a key; he could hear it slide into the lock.

_Oh, no, it's Reynard. He's come back to kill me._

Murray shrank away from the door, then he caught himself and realized if he hid, Reynard would only stalk him and find him. His only chance was to sneak out past him once he was inside and then run. Reynard's gait had been uneven. Maybe he'd had a run-in with the guys; maybe he was hurt. Inside the warehouse, Murray was vulnerable to him; outside he was much safer, even if the warehouse was at the heart of skid row. A few skid row bums or even a drug dealer or two didn't seem nearly as scary as Reynard.

Holding his breath, Murray waited, drawing into the shadows that concealed him. It might have worked but for the placement of the nearest streetlight. Opening the door, Reynard started to step inside, a shaggy and shaky Reynard who looked like he'd been struck by lightning. His jaw was slack and his eyes were glazed, and every now and then he twitched slightly. Unable to imagine what could have happened to him to produce such a reaction, Murray froze.

The widening door allowed the streetlight to shine directly upon him like a spotlight.

For a minute he thought Reynard was so spaced out he wouldn't see him, but then the hit man froze. "Bozinsky," he breathed--and reached for him.

Murray wanted to duck under his arm and run, but he knew he wasn't the world's most graceful runner. That wouldn't work, and he probably couldn't punch the man out, even if he was a lot younger than Reynard. Then he remembered the other night, watching the movie The Karate Kid on cable TV. Murray didn't know karate, but he remembered that terrific kick Daniel had used at the end to win the match. What had they said? If it was used right, there was no defense. Murray didn't think he could do it right; he'd probably fall on his bottom if he tried. But instead of trying to move or punch, he took one quick step backward and kicked at Reynard as hard as he could. Reynard wouldn't expect that.

He missed. He should have known he would. Reynard obviously knew it; a contemptuous sneer on his face, he didn't even bother to duck. But fate took an unexpected hand. As his foot swung past inches from the renegade agent's face, the other end of the handcuff came loose from his sock and the trajectory of his swinging leg made it fly out. It caught Reynard hard on the point of his chin. He didn't even have time to cry out; his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over like a mighty tree crashing to the forest floor.

Murray caught his balance against the door frame and stood open-mouthed, gaping at his downed opponent. "I can't believe I did that," he crowed with a nervous giggle. "Boss! Boss and bodacious! Gosh, I can't wait to tell the guys."

Pausing only long enough to tuck the cuff into his sock again, he ran out into the night.

*****

The paramedics were just putting the finishing touches on Nick's bandage--his wound was no more serious than Egon's had been in the park, and the EMT's didn't think he needed to go to the Emergency Room for it. Egon's wound had been treated and dismissed as nothing serious; he had a new bandage in place. Nick honestly had not noticed when he'd been hit, not until Cody saw it, and then it had stung, but he knew it wasn't bad. What hurt worse was Reynard's escape. Teams of police and agents had searched the area in the half hour since the confrontation in the alley, and there was no trace of him. The police had contacted the various cab companies to see if anyone had picked up a fare in the area, but that wouldn't allow for gypsy cabbies or even the subway system. Probably he had his own transportation, complete with sound equipment for his bugging devices and wouldn't use a cab. Reynard may have been hit a glancing blow from Egon's weird weapon, but it hadn't done enough damage to prevent his escape.

Half expecting to be read the riot act by Cody for going out after Egon without telling anyone, Nick had found his friend preempted by the Firm's deputy director, Michael Coldsmith-Briggs. He started with Egon, telling the physicist that Reynard might well be in custody but for Spengler's rash and ill-considered actions. The agent had a flair for words and a very extensive vocabulary. Peter sat listening, nodding approvement while Ray tried to intervene, and Winston stood, arms folded across his chest, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He wanted Reynard captured and he was worried about Egon's risk.

Then Coldsmith-Briggs started on Nick, chiding him for failing to alert the Firm operative when he followed Egon. He concluded by reminding Nick of Murray Bozinsky, still missing, and likely to be the target of the rogue agent's spleen.

Nick was inclined to be belligerent when Michael calmly told him, "And you should have told one of my people. This isn't a case for Heroics Anonymous. There are lives at stake. As a detective, no doubt you feel competent to deal with the situation, but this is not your normal divorce investigation or missing person case."

"I know what Reynard's capable of," Nick replied, his mouth taut. He didn't like the reprimand any better than Egon had, and he wasn't prepared to take it, although the thought that he had possibly endangered Boz again made his stomach churn. "I've seen him kill in cold blood, remember?"

Michael wasn't impressed. He exchanged a glance with Marella, took a deep, exasperated breath, and opened his mouth to continue his reproached.

Cody, hovering protectively at Nick's side even though he'd nodded in approval at a few of Michael's choice words, said, "We know exactly how dangerous he is. Nick saved Egon--from being shot by your men, as I recall. At least _we're_ not _that_ trigger happy." He eyed Nick's wound, a dark expression on his face.

_Good one_ , thought Nick.

"Cody's right," intervened Peter, smiling approvingly upon the Riptide duo. Since Nick had tackled Egon, he realized he had gone up in Peter's estimation. Anyone who saved his friend was all right in Peter's book. "Did you maybe think you might be surprising a wino or maybe a young couple who ducked into the alley for a little nookie?"

"No," said Michael succinctly. "We had already pinpointed Reynard. We were about to take him down, before he had a chance to fire on this building."

Egon hung his head. "I thought I could track him and stop him," he admitted. "I reasoned out my actions very carefully."

"He is not a ghost, Dr. Spengler," reminded Marella.

"We just wanted to make him one," Peter ventured. That won him a few stern looks from the police and intelligence community.

"The thrower would not have killed him, even if I had hit him directly," Egon defended himself. "I told him it would because I wanted him to believe it and to pay for what he'd done to Janine in a few moments of fear. But a direct hit would merely have rendered him unconscious. I would have captured him for you, given three more seconds and, except for retrieving Dr. Bozinsky, the problem would now be over."

"You did hit him," Nick reminded him. On the whole, he approved of Egon's actions, although he had better not say so, not with Cody wavering between worry and outrage, even if the worry _caused_ the outrage. He knew his Cody well enough to understand that. "Will being zapped with your ray gun slow him down?"

"Yes, probably for several hours, although it is _not_ a ray gun," Egon replied.

"It is when Ray uses it," Peter muttered under his breath, winning a disgusted grimace from the physicist and a delighted grin from Stantz.

Ignoring Peter, Egon continued. "He was conscious and able to move fast enough to elude the police and the Firm's people." That didn't go down well with either, but Nick had to struggle not to grin. From the way Cody's hand tightened on his shoulder, his partner was warning him not to say anything about that.

The paramedics finished up Nick's arm and left in a hurry, uncomfortable with the atmosphere at Ghostbuster Central, whether because of the nervous-making presence of Slimer hovering overhead and wringing his hands at the sight of Egon's slight wound, or the stern expression on Michael's face. Once they were gone, Michael heaved a resigned sigh and limped over to the sofa, where he picked up his telephone briefcase, opened it, and began making calls. End of lecture, but he had made his point.

"You think Murray's in worse trouble because of what we did, Cody?" Nick asked worriedly, catching Cody's arm.

"I don't know. Egon said Reynard was going to be in lousy shape for awhile. Maybe he won't go after Murray. Maybe since he screwed up here, he'll need Murray all the more. He won't take a chance at us now, not here, not tonight. He knows we're covered. He'll have to find another way to do it. He also knows we nearly caught him tonight, or rather, Egon did. So he's figured out we're more dangerous than he expected."

"Yeah but, Cody, he has to know he's busted," Nick replied, trying to figure out all the complications that could arise from the incident in the alley. "I mean, if there are all these cops and agents hanging around, he has to have figured out that we went to the authorities. He'd _know_ word would reach the right ears eventually. He'd know all his plans have been screwed. Even if he takes us out, he's blown any chance he had of a Senate career."

"Yeah, something good came out of this all," Cody agreed.

Nick hesitated. "He killed Markham in Nam to keep him quiet, and that's why he killed Doug Hemphill. But it doesn't matter if we're quiet now; he'll have to go to ground. So unless he wants to blow us away just for revenge, he doesn't have to risk his life and freedom to come after us. He could just take off, vanish, assume a new identity and start all over. Why even risk coming after us now?" Not that he planned to lower his guard, not till Reynard was taken and Murray was free. _God, let the little guy be okay_ , he thought fiercely.

"Or he could try to waste us all because we blew the whistle on him," said Peter, who had been listening. Nick didn't like that theory but he knew it was possible. He eyed Peter resentfully simply because he'd been the one to say it, and Peter shrugged wryly and didn't take offense.

"That could happen," Michael volunteered, lifting his head his phone call. "Which is why we intend to maintain protection."

"For how long?" Egon asked. "If he has decided to cut his losses and leave, you could wait indefinitely."

"He can't cut his losses; he's got the Boz," Nick objected. "No matter what else he does, Murray's still in trouble."

"Yeah," agreed Cody, and Nick could hear the suppressed worry in his voice his clearly as if Cody had worn a sign. He reached up and curled his fingers around Cody's wrist. Cody flashed a smile at him before continuing. "We have to rescue Murray. He's in greater danger than ever now."

Sgt. Anderson, who had been quiet until now, frowned. "I hate to say it, Mr. Ryder, Mr. Allen, but there is no guarantee Murray is even alive. You'll recall he wasn't at Pier 29."

"Yeah, our P.K.E. meters proved that," Ray piped up unhappily. "But that doesn't mean he's dead," he insisted. "And we can use the meters to find him if you let us. We should have been doing that all along instead of sitting here like bait in a trap. We can configure six separate meters, and section off Manhattan and the Bronx. Once we've covered that, we can go further afield, Brooklyn and Queens."

"And if he's over in Jersey?" asked Anderson with a vague gesture in the direction of the Hudson River.

"Our buddy needs us. We won't give up until we've found him," Nick insisted.

"I have an idea," offered Winston, winning everyone's attention.

"Go ahead, Winston," urged Peter.

"Well, Reynard was at Pier 29. We know the biorhythm readings don't carry further than what, Egon? Six blocks with the meters boosted?" The physicist nodded. "Well, what's to say Reynard wasn't over there along the river and dumped Bozinsky in one of those warehouses not too far away. He chose a pier nearby; he didn't know about P.K.E. meters but probably thought we might search the immediate area if he screwed up and didn't get us. I think we should spread out from that point and search in those warehouses not too far from the dock areas. I bet we'd find him."

"Great, let's go," cried Nick, bounding to his feet.

"Not so fast, Mr. Ryder," Michael said. "We'll send people. Show them how to read the meters, Dr. Spengler. Yes, I know you all want the satisfaction of finding him yourselves, but you know we stand a better chance of freeing him in one piece than you do."

"He's right, Nick," Cody insisted, putting a restraining hand on his friend's arm.

Peter, who looked like he wanted to rush out and start searching himself, nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, we have to let 'em," he said. "Gives Murray his best chance, and that's what counts." He gave Nick a sympathetic grin. "If it was one of my team out there, I'd want to rush out to find him, too. Sitting around here waiting like this is the pits, isn't it?"

Nick found himself nodding involuntarily. Maybe Venkman wasn't so bad after all. "No lie, man," he said in agreement. "No lie."

Michael made phone calls and then dispersed some of the people downstairs, Anderson directed the police, and several meters went with the teams who would move out in both directions from Pier 29, hunting for Murray. Aching with regret, Nick watched them go. He wanted to _do_ something. He'd never been good at sitting around, waiting.

The mood in the former firehouse was expectant. Winston went out to the kitchen and produced soft drinks and beer, which he distributed to everyone there. Egon picked up the phone, calling the hospital for a report on Janine. Evidently he was allowed to talk to her for a few minutes. Realizing that, Peter waved at everyone for quiet and the other three Ghostbusters crowded around as Egon explained what had happened. Peter snatched the phone from Egon and said, "Yeah, Janine, Egon was almost a hero tonight. You should've seen him. Scared the pants off the rest of us." He hesitated, then he said severely, "No, we won't stage a repeat performance of that part when you come home. Save your prurient interests for Egon. I bet if you work at it right, you can get _his_ pants off."

"Honestly, Peter," a red-faced Egon responded, reaching for the phone. 

Peter held it at bay. "He's okay, Janine," Peter reassured her, his voice softening. "He's gonna be fine--you can believe it, because I'm not gonna let him out of my sight for _one second_ until this Reynard creep is history!" He gave Egon the phone again and went to stand beside Ray. "She's gonna be okay, Ray," he said, and Nick recognized his tone. He was reassuring Ray and pleading for reassurance at the same time.

Ray must have recognized that because he clasped Peter's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "She's gonna be fine," he said. "You think she'd be on the phone if she weren't."

Peter brightened, reaching up to clasp Ray's wrists.

Egon talked to Janine only a minute longer, but he came away smiling. "She's doing better," he said. "I didn't think they'd let me talk to her."

"Glad they did, homeboy," said Winston.

Suddenly they heard footsteps on the stairs and knew, from the vast contingent of cops and agents surrounding the building, that it couldn't be Reynard. Michael turned expectantly, but Nick and Cody stiffened. That step was familiar, and it was the most welcome thing Nick had heard in a long time. Relief surged through him so powerfully at the sound he felt his eyes sting with it. He and Cody jumped up and started for the stairs in perfect unison. "Murray?" Cody called.

"It's me, guys," a familiar voice replied, and Murray Bozinsky appeared at the top of the stairs, trailed by a uniformed policeman.

Nick lunged at Murray, grabbed him in a fierce grip and hugged him around the neck, causing Murray to gasp, though he welcomed the embrace and returned it. Cody jumped in and encircled both of them in a hug of his own. Nothing mattered but the fact that Murray was alive and well and the team was intact again. Nick could have stood like that all night, and in truth he didn't want to turn around and face the others because his eyes were wet with unshed tears of joy. He was subliminally aware of the Ghostbusters backing off to give them their reunion, and knew they understood it from the way they had fussed over Egon and still worried about Janine.

"I'm okay, guys," Murray reassured them quickly, his voice warming at the intensity of his welcome. "I'd have been here sooner but I had to take the police back to where I knocked out Reynard."

Nick and Cody stared at him in astonished disbelief. Quickly rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, Nick said, "You did _what_?"

"I karate kicked him," Murray admitted, beaming with pride.

"Come on, Mur, I remember when you tried that after we watched that karate movie the other day," Cody said with a grin. "You wound up on your butt on the deck, and you missed Nick by two feet."

"Well, yeah, but this time was different," Murray insisted. "I _wanted_ to miss Nick. I'd hardly really have kicked one of my best buds." He gave a bray of laughter. "It was my secret weapon."

"Secret weapon? You know what he's talking about?" Nick asked Cody, grinning a mile wide.

Cody's face was so alight with relief and happiness it made Nick feel good. "I don't know, and I don't even care, as long as he's okay," he returned. "Okay, Mur, tell us about your secret weapon."

Boz reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "This. He chained me to a bed by my ankle."

"How'd you undo it?" asked Peter in the background. "Pick the lock?"

"I broke the bed," Murray replied. "And worked my way free, even if I still had it around my one ankle."

Nick saw where the story was leading and gaped at Murray in astonishment. "So you tried to play Karate Kid with Reynard--"

"I missed, but I hit him with the handcuff," Murray cried excitedly, bouncing up on his toes. "It was really boss, guys. I had it tucked in my sock and when I tried to kick him, it came flying out and belted him on the chin. He fell down, and I ran like crazy. I flagged down Officer Hall here," he gestured at the policeman.

"And you arrested him?" Cody asked, exchanging a wondering look with Nick. It couldn't be that easy, could it?

It seemed it wasn't. "No, he was gone when we got there," Murray said disappointedly. "But Officer Hall undid the cuff around my ankle. Boy, does that feel better. It was pretty tight."

"Come on, Murray, let's check it out." Cody and Nick each took an arm and steered their partner like a trophy over to the couch, while the Ghostbusters parted to let them through.

"Decked him with a handcuff," Nick heard Peter remark. "I like it. So Reynard was hoist with his own petard--whatever that means."

"It means precisely what you know it means, Peter," Egon told him.

Murray's ankle had a reddened, chafed circle around it that had bled in a couple of places, so Winston fetched the Ghostbusters' first aid kit and Nick dressed the wound while everyone exchanged stories. Murray interrupted treatment of his minor injury to pause and stare at Nick's bandaged arm, asking alarmed questions, relaxing when Nick pointed out he was fine, no one had taken him to a hospital and that he wasn't even wearing a sling. Okay, so maybe the sling might have felt good, but he wasn't going to admit that to either Cody or Murray.

"Wow," breathed Murray when he heard that Egon's particle stream had grazed Reynard. "I could tell. He was all twitchy and funny looking and his eyes weren't quite focused. He saw me and he might've got me, but I think it slowed him down."

"And you knocked him out, buddy," Cody lauded. "That's great." He caught Murray by the chin and stared into his eyes. "I don't like it that he drugged you. How do you feel now?"

Murray considered it seriously. "Better than when I woke up, but I don't think I want to even _see_ food for awhile."

"That's okay, Slimer ate all the pizza," Ray assured him.

Murray turned slightly green. "Don't even _mention_ pizza."

"Sorry." Ray spread his hands in apology. "How about Pepto Bismol?"

Murray shook his head. "I'm okay. Just not hungry yet."

"Sure?" Nick asked.

"His eyes are clear," Cody said, turning to favor Nick with a reassuring glance. "Maybe we can call the paramedics back to examine him. I don't think he's in bad shape, though."

"Hey, guys, _Reynard_ 's really in bad shape now," Murray said, as an idea struck him. "Think he'd go to a hospital?"

"With half the city searching for him?" Winston objected. He taped a band-aid over one of the small scrapes on Murray's ankle. "There, you're done, guy," he said. Turning to Nick and Cody, he added, "This isn't serious. He's okay."

"We wouldn't _expect_ Reynard to do anything so foolish as to go to an emergency room," said Marella. "Perhaps he'd think it was safe in an alternate reasoning way because he'd think we wouldn't believe it of him. Or perhaps his judgment has been impaired by the, er, neutronizing, following so closely by a knockout blow and might not be thinking clearly. I believe we should call the hospitals just in case."

"I'll make a few calls," Anderson said and went for the Ghostbusters' phone while Michael opened his briefcase again. Both of them became busy. Murray tugged his pant leg down again and gazed around with fascination, discovering Slimer hovering overhead. The ghost had returned from his search for Murray shortly before Murray's return. "Is that _Slimer_?" he cried eagerly. "Wow, this is really _boss_."

"Come on down, Slimer, and meet Murray," urged Ray. "Slimer, Murray helped us on a bust once."

"Murray-buster," Slimer said with interest and swooped down in front of him."

"Hey, Mur," Nick urged, "Shake hands with him." Cody gave Nick a stern nudge in the ribcage, but Murray didn't hesitate, sticking out his hand in sheer delight.

"Hi, Slimer."

The little ghost grabbed Murray's hand with an audible splat, and Nick waited for the cries of disgust. Instead, Boz drew back his hand and stared at it, wide-eyed. "Oh, wow, ectoplasmic residue," he breathed. "I wish the Roboz was here so I could analyze it."

"The Roboz?" asked Ray.

Murray described the funny little robot while Ray and Egon listened with interest.

Cody and Nick exchanged a disappointed glance. They'd halfway been waiting for Murray to groan in disgust and yank his hand away. The tamer, scientific reaction hadn't been nearly as much fun.

It was Anderson who made the right phone connection, breaking off the computer lecture. "You've got _what_?" he bellowed into the phone, causing everyone to turn and stare at him. He listened, jotting notes on a pad, his face darkening. Turning to the others he said, "We've got him. At least we know where he is. He's up at St. Vincent's hospital, and one of my men just spotted him. He grabbed two hostages, a nurse and a patient, and is making demands right now." He listened for a minute, then added, "He's saying he'll kill them if we don't bring Zeddemore, Allen, and Ryder over right away."

"What good will that do? He's blown any chance he has of coming out of this smelling like a rose," said Michael disgustedly. "Either he's out for revenge or he's confused and fixated on his original plan."

"Between being partially neutronized and rendered unconscious, such a thing is entirely possible," Egon murmured. "He is very dangerous."

"We've gotta go over there," Nick burst out. When the others stared, he said, "Well, you heard him. He's holding hostages. One of 'em's a _patient._ He's gonna kill them if we don't play along. I don't say we should walk in there and be blown away, but maybe we can help. Let him see us in a way that won't give him a clear shot and maybe the SWAT team can free the hostages."

"I agree, gentlemen," Michael said. Marella occasionally referred to him as Archangel; it was probably his code name. Maybe that was why he always dressed in white.

"You _agree_ ," bellowed Peter. "You're gonna turn our buddy Winston and Nick and Cody over to him to save the hostages? Come on, you can't do that. Are you nuts?"

"I intend to turn _no one_ over to him," Michael said very firmly, favoring Peter with an exasperated glare. "I intend to _stop_ him. It's simply that your friends' role in this game is not yet finished. I do not mean to endanger them. They shall have every safeguard."

Peter opened his mouth to object, and Egon shot out a long arm and caught him by the shoulder, squeezing warningly. "He does know what he's doing, Peter," he said.

"Yeah, fourteen years after the fact and Reynard's still running around. I can tell he's _real_ good at his job."

Marella leaped to her feet, prepared to defend her boss, but Michael waved her back. "Reynard gave no clues until now," he said.

"Yeah, and now you take potshots at Egon and Nick," Peter growled.

Michael ignored that. "We'll stop him, I guarantee it."

"And we're gonna be there," insisted Winston. "It's the only way you'll get close to him."

Peter looked like he wanted to insist the Feds handle it, but Winston's face was stubborn. Either Michael saw it or he decided he wanted them where he could watch them, because he nodded. "But we'll do it my way."

If Winston was going, evidently all the Ghostbusters were going. They assembled and donned their proton packs.

"You won't need those, gentlemen," Marella assured them.

"Of course we will," said Peter smoothly. "These babies can do anything. You think you'd have a chance at him now if not for Egon? Think Murray would have escaped if Reynard hadn't been neutronized? None of you helped him loose. He did it all himself, with an assist from Egon."

Michael was a fair man, willing to acknowledge that. "Very well, but you won't go in blasting. Ghosts don't shoot back, gentlemen."

Peter grimaced, but Ray said, "Some of them do--not with bullets, but they're just as dangerous..."

"I'm aware of the Ghostbusters' contribution to the world," Michael conceded. "Shall we go?"

*****

They made the trip to the hospital in a convoy, the Ghostbusters and Riptide detectives all together crammed into Ecto, following the Firm's white limo, with police cars and unmarked vehicles in all directions. Being New York, no one paid any particular attention, except for the odd Ghostbuster fan. Peter waved at them. "Well, I hafta," he said when Egon reminded him they weren't in a parade. "It's good for business."

"Is he always like that?" Nick asked Winston in an undertone.

"Usually he's worse," Winston replied with a grin at Peter, who made a face at him.

Peter didn't like the idea of the trip to the hospital. He'd have been happy to let the Feds clean up their own mess, with Winston well out of danger and Egon and Ray away from trigger-happy agents. But Winston considered it his duty to go, and you couldn't have held Ray back if you tied him down. As for Egon, he would always rise to the need to protect a member of the team. There he was, working on one of his gizmos in a hope it would work against Reynard. As for the Riptide detectives, Peter remembered Nick and Cody's insistence that Murray stay behind and his equal determination to go.

"I'm one of the team, aren't I? I've got to go. I hurt him and he's in the hospital. If he hurts anyone, it's my fault."

"Listen, quit with the fault, already, Mur," Cody told him. "We went that route when you were captured. But it wasn't true. It's all Reynard."

Peter didn't think Nick had entirely agreed with that, but in the end, Murray had come. Even Slimer had come, a fact that didn't sit well with Peter, especially since the little spud had hung at his side in the car, when he wasn't fussing over Egon's bandages or trying to insist Winston stay away from nasty people like Reynard.

The police were waiting to show them into a side entrance well away from the ER, where Reynard held sway, putting up a hand to keep Slimer out. The little ghost was vastly disappointed, but Peter had to agree with them. The people in there had enough to contend with, without the sight of a little green ghost. Peter heard an agent telling Archangel that Reynard hadn't come into the ER himself. He'd staggered into the street and been struck a grazing blow by a cab, and brought to the hospital while unconscious. He had revived in the ER before anyone could treat him, and grabbed two hostages, the nurse who had been checking his vitals and the patient in the next cubicle. By all accounts, the patient wasn't seriously ill; he had evidently come to the ER because he'd slammed his finger in the car door and crushed it. He was bound to be in a lot of pain, but he wasn't a heart patient who might keel over at the first sign of danger.

As they entered the hospital, Peter saw police fanning out to surround the hospital and cover all the exits. Reynard might try to negotiate for transportation out of there, but no matter how good he was, he was probably finished. Peter hoped so.

They were led down a corridor and stopped just short of the Emergency Room. Michael and Marella gestured at a couple of their operatives to watch them, and then Michael went to the entrance and called out, "Reynard, this is Archangel. We have to talk."

There was a long silence. Then a voice that sounded groggy but determinedly alert returned, "Michael? They dug you out to come after me? Forget it. I didn't owe you anything then, and I owe you a lot less now. I want Ryder, Allen, and Zeddemore."

"Why, Jim?" Michael called. "You're, er, busted. They are hardly the only loose ends you've left. All of us know. We know about the senate campaign in Illinois, we know about Marchand. It's over, Jim. You can go to ground and try again, but the intelligence community knows you survived Vietnam, and no matter where you go, we'll find you if you attempt to step into the public eye. You're a traitor and a war profiteer, and killing those three will be only three more nails in your coffin."

"They blew the whistle on me, they have to pay," Reynard insisted. He sounded wild and out of control, and Peter lifted an eyebrow.

"He's not in his right mind," he cautioned in an undertone to Archangel. "Not that he was sane before, but the neutronizing, being knocked out, and being hit by a car have pushed him toward the edge. It may be a physically-induced dementia, but in his right mind he'd probably have cut his losses and vanished underground. He knows you're right and probably wouldn't hang around for risky revenge ordinarily. But he's half out of it."

Marella nodded. "Dr. Venkman's right," she said. "We're dealing with an unstable personality phase."

"What does that gain you?" Michael called to Reynard. "If you try, you'll be arrested or killed."

"Then get me transportation out of here. And don't lie to me, Michael. I remember you. You'd lie to your own mother if you thought it would serve your purpose."

"At least my purpose is to stop people like you," Michael returned. Lowering his voice, he said to the Ghostbusters, "He's right around the corner, close. Those streams of yours don't do angle shots, do they?"

Glancing up, Peter saw one of those round, distorting mirrors overhead, the kind that gave a view of the approaching hallway. There was Reynard, the first time Peter had actually seen him, a grey-haired man, who had avoided middle-age spread. He had a handgun rammed up into the neck of a uniformed nurse. There were a few other people in the waiting room, but they had ducked behind chairs and desks, and one man had pulled a gurney over and lay trembling behind it.

"We can do it," Egon said, eyeing the mirror. "We can use it to bounce off our shots. Give me a moment to calculate the trajectory. We shall need extremely low power, because there is no way to do it without stunning the nurse as well."

"Can you give me a guarantee he won't twitch and blow her head off in the process?" Michael asked.

Egon hesitated, then he shook his head. "No, I can't do that. It's possible his finger might twitch." He continued working on the calculator.

"Then we can't do it," Ray said in great disappointment. "We can't risk her life like that."

"No, but we can make him point the gun somewhere else," Nick said stubbornly. "We need a distraction."

Without even looking at him, Cody shot out a hand and grabbed his arm. "Not you, buddy," he said. "You're wounded, remember."

" _You're_ not going out there, man," Nick insisted.

"I can go," Murray volunteered. "It'd really bug him if I showed up."

"No way," Peter intervened. "He's already pissed at you. No, it needs to be a person who isn't on his shit list already. And that pretty much leaves me."

"And me," said Ray.

"Not you, Tex, you've got a cold," Peter reminded him, though Ray's symptoms had faded considerably since that morning.

Before they could do anything, Nick called, "Let her go, Reynard. We're coming out." Murray instantly joined Cody in restraining him.

Hearing Nick's voice, Reynard stiffened like a hunting dog spotting his prey. "Come out, Ryder," he called, recognizing the voice instantly. Even though the view in the mirror was not a clear one, Peter could see him smile. "I see you there," Reynard added. "I see you all lurking. You Ghostbusters, do you think you can blast me again? I'd have a split second to see your proton streams coming, and that would be enough for me to take my hostage with me."

"He's right," Egon said disgustedly.

Suddenly Winston snapped his fingers, a broad grin spreading across his face. "I've got it," he breathed. "Cody, Nick, come here. I think we can do this."

Peter eyed him warily, not sure what Winston had on his mind. He was the most sensible and practical of the team but, like Egon, he felt bad about Janine being hurt, and he might not be at his best. "Do you know what he's up to?" he asked Egon.

Egon watched Winston reach out and grasp the two detectives' wrists, directing them to take hold of each other's. "Yes, I believe he intends to hold a seance," Egon replied matter of factly.

That made Archangel spin around to stare at Egon, eyebrows lifting. "You have to be kidding," he said involuntarily.

Egon gestured for silence. In a low voice, he said to Archangel, "They have an ally who isn't here. Doug Hemphill."

"You mean they're gonna summon up his spirit and sic him on Reynard?" Murray asked, grasping the point without effort. "Whoa, is that ever boss."

"That's it, guys," admitted Winston. "I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on Doug. We need him here. Reynard may not freak but I think he will. Pete said his mind was a little out of whack. Seeing the man he killed just might give us the edge we need to get the drop on him without needing SWAT teams."

Nick started to jerk away, to take no part in the process, but Cody's expression held interest as he tightened his grip on Nick's wrist to keep him from leaving. Ray's face lit with eager enthusiasm. That left it to Peter, and to Marella, to keep watch on the curved mirror. Reynard was watching them in return, and his gun hadn't wavered. Peter hoped Winston's plan didn't backfire on him and freak out Reynard so badly he pulled the trigger.

That was when Peter thought of an idea of his own, and he spun around and trotted back to the door. Egon followed him. "Peter, where are you going?"

"Reinforcements," Peter said over his shoulder. Opening the door, he popped his head out, stuck two fingers between his teeth, and whistled. "Yo, Slimer," he called. "Front and center."

"Not an inauspicious plan, Peter," Egon remarked as the spud shot through the night air and came to a 'screeching' halt in front of Peter, throwing up one hand to his forehead in a snappy salute. "Aye, Aye, Petaw," he cried.

"Spud, I hate to say this, but we need you," Peter said. "Egon, remind me afterwards to deny I said that."

"Okey-dokey, Petaw," Slimer agreed, ignoring the second half of Peter's words.

"He may well serve as an excellent distraction," Egon observed. "Slimer, come with us."

When the policeman who stood guard at the door opened his mouth to protest, Peter held up his hand. "Important Ghostbuster business," he said. "We've gotta take him. We won't let him hurt any patients."

When he and Egon returned with Slimer bobbing importantly between them, Winston, Cody, and Nick still stood in their circle, their eyes closed. Archangel divided his attention between the unexpected spectacle and the view in the mirror. He had a gun in his hand that he hadn't been holding before. Peter wondered if his vision was good enough for shooting with only one eye, but there were plenty of others with weapons, so that shouldn't be a problem, if only Reynard would let go of the nurse. She seemed shaken and unsteady, but there was no patient hostage in sight, so maybe she'd persuaded Reynard to use her instead.

"Come on, Doug," Winston muttered under his breath. "You warned me before. I need you one last time. You can do it."

Cody tightened his wrist abruptly around Nick's, sensing the dark haired man's sheer skepticism. He hadn't warmed to the concept of Slimer; the idea of meeting the ghost of a person he knew had to be nearly beyond his imagining. He lacked the advantage all the Ghostbusters had, belief.

Reynard yelled, "Michael, you still there? Don't think you can creep up on me. I see you in that mirror, and I'll know if you try anything. If you don't produce transport out of here, I'll start shooting. There are a lot of people in here and my bullets will go through the furniture with no trouble at all."

That led to a nervous stirring from the people pinned down in the waiting room. A muscle bunched in Michael's jaw. "Where's that SWAT team?' he asked Marella under his breath.

"Due in two minutes," she admitted. "Actually they're positioning themselves outside right now." She lowered the cell phone she carried.

Nick let out a startled yell and jumped, causing Peter to turn his attention to the circle. In its center hovered the ghost who had appeared at Headquarters the previous night, still bloodstained on his ghostly shirt, still missing one leg. "Omigod, it's Doug," Cody blurted, while Murray sucked in a delighted breath at the success of the ploy. Ray gave Winston an excited thumbs' up. Nick, scowling, eyed the ghost, then turned and glared at the Ghostbusters as if it were their fault.

"Don't worry," Peter said. "Expanding your reality doesn't really hurt. You just think it does at first."

"Doug," Winston said gravely, "We have a problem. Reynard's here. He's just around that corner. He's holding a hostage. We need you to go out there and confront him."

Hemphill's misty shoulders squared up. "I can do that," he said. "I want to do that. When I think of what he's done, left my Betsy on her own... I'll go and stop him." A beatific smile lightened his face, then he faded out again.

"Wait for it," Peter said with a huge grin, directing everyone's attention to the mirror.

Hemphill materialized about three feet in front of Reynard, fully solid-looking, the bloodstained shirt torn to reveal the gaping wounds in his stomach and chest. Peter was suddenly glad the view was distorted and distant. He didn't like the sight of that one little bit.

Neither did Reynard. For the first moment, he must have assumed Doug's ghost was a patient who had blundered into the emergency room, but then he blinked and his body jerked. The gun tightened momentarily against the nurse's neck, and she screamed, as much at the sight of the ghost as at the pressure from the weapon.

"You killed me," Doug said, his voice becoming hollow and sepulchral, causing even Peter, who was used to ghosts, to feel a chill run up his spine. Nick and Cody automatically moved closer to each other even though they knew this particular ghost was on their side. "You killed me, and I won't let you kill anybody else."

"Get away from me," Reynard screeched wildly. "I'll kill you again and keep on killing you as long as it takes."

"Slimer, head out there, help him if he needs it," Peter urged, gesturing.

The little ghost hesitated, then he swooped around the corner and positioned himself at Hemphill's shoulder. Reynard cried out and fired his gun directly at Slimer, who gave an even louder shriek than the panicked ex-operative as the bullet whizzed right through him. The sound disconcerted Reynard, especially when Slimer didn't falter and drop.

"You can't kill a ghost," Hemphill said. "How do you think the others were warned about you? _I_ told them. And now I'm here to haunt you, for as long as it takes."

"Get away, get away," he cried, backpedaling furiously, dragging the nurse with him. Evidently considering her a handicap, he thrust her from him furiously and she went down in a heap on the floor.

"Wait," Michael urged, holding up his hand when one of his operatives would have darted after her and pulled her to safety. "He has too good a shot at her. We have to let...them do their job first."

Nick edged toward the corner, bracing himself to go sprinting after the fallen nurse, but Cody and Murray, sensing his need, grasped his arms to restrain him.

"I will not get away," Hemphill insisted, still in that wonderfully spooky voice.

"Me neither," Slimer piped up. His garbled falsetto should have spoiled the effect, but maybe a voice from a creature like the spud was enough to disconcert Reynard. It had disconcerted Peter at the beginning, after all.

Reynard fired wildly three times, right at Hemphill, who flinched the first time, then stood his ground.

"Freak him out," Ray called around the corner, coaching the ghost. "You can shapeshift if you want to."

Hemphill hesitated, then did, growing larger, more menacing. He raised his arms over his head in a threatening pose, looming over the gunman. Even in the distortion mirror Peter could see the fangs that spouted in his mouth. "Do you want me to follow you like this for the rest of your life?"

"I'm starting to like the guy," Nick muttered to Cody.

"Precisely," Egon concurred. Peter didn't think he'd ever seen Egon enjoy a haunting more. Like all of them, Egon wanted him to pay for hurting Janine, and for snatching Bozinsky. Egon cared more for Janine than he was yet prepared to admit. This had become very personal for him. Peter knew how personally he had taken it that Janine was hurt, and he was sure Winston had in an entirely different way.

"Go for it, Doug," Winston called. "We're all with you, man."

"You called that right," Nick agreed, muttering in an undertone, "I never thought I'd be egging a ghost on."

"I think it's boss," breathed Murray, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Under cover of the giant ghost, the nurse collected herself and scuttled toward the corner, trying to move as stealthily as possible. Reynard saw her out of the corner of his eye and jerked the gun around in her direction.

"Now!" Michael cried, but before his man could move, Hemphill shot out a great hand and grasped Reynard by the wrist, jerking his gunhand up so the shot hit the ceiling. Unable to hold back another second, Nick broke free of Murray and Cody, burst around the corner and, with Michael's operative, pulled the woman to safety. Struggling in the grip of the ghost, Reynard's eyes were so wide and staring Peter didn't think he'd even noticed.

"Are you _crazy_?" Cody exploded, lunging for Nick. "He could have wasted you right there."

"He didn't," Nick defended himself. "Come on, Cody, we couldn't leave her out there."

Gently Peter eased the nurse from the detective's grip. She was trembling with reaction, her eyes nearly blank with shock. Peter put his arms around her with care and spoke soothingly. "Easy, easy, it's okay, we've got you, you're safe now."

At the comforting voice, she gasped, shuddered, and began to weep. "That's good, let it go," Peter encouraged her. "You were great out there. It's all right." He caught Egon's eye over her bent head and mouthed, "Call a doctor."

Egon nodded and moved off down the hall. Peter was satisfied. It removed the vengeful physicist from Reynard's orbit for the critical few minutes and it brought help for the pretty nurse, who would probably need a sedative and a bed for the night.

Winston watched Hemphill, his mouth drawn in a tight line. "Man, I wish I could be out there to help," he muttered.

"You did help, Winston," Ray reassured him. "You figured out how to stop him. I think it's _great_. I wish all ghosts were like that."

"I wish that one wasn't a ghost," Winston replied flatly.

"You're _not_ going out there again," Cody was saying sternly to Nick.

The detective's mouth curled stubbornly, but then he relaxed. "Yeah, I know, man. It was a dumb stunt, but I had to do _something_."

"You've done a lot," Cody insisted. "You saved Egon, remember? And you helped Winston and me summon Hemphill."

Peter had to smile at the disgruntled expression on Nick Ryder's face. He went on patting the woman's shoulder, chanting comforting words, but his eyes lifted to the mirror again.

Hemphill had Reynard by both wrists and was shaking him lightly. Reynard was still struggling, but suddenly Slimer popped in and flew right for Reynard's face. Peter knew what a collision with Slimer felt like, but Reynard was unprepared for the splat that followed and the squishy feel of ectoplasm trickling down his face. He shrieked, then gasped and spit.

Hemphill detached the gun from the stunned man's hand. Still gripping him by the other wrist, he lifted him right up off the floor. Reynard's eyes widened and a horrible moan issued from his lips. He babbled, "Let me go, go away, get out of here, let me go."

"I think we can do it now," Michael said with conviction and led the way around the corner, followed by the operative who had helped Nick with the nurse and two cops. They walked up to Reynard without the least difficulty, and Archangel said calmly, "Thank you Mr. Hemphill, we'll take over now."

Doug instantly shrank down to his normal form and passed the babbling man over. He was handcuffed and restrained even as the SWAT team arrived. Peter didn't follow the others around the corner; he didn't want the nurse to see Reynard again, even a helpless, hysterical Reynard. But then a doctor arrived on he run, followed by a couple of nurses, and Peter passed the nurse over to them. "Take good care of her, she's been brave," he said. And to the nurse, "I'm Peter Venkman. I'll stop by to see you tomorrow."

He wasn't sure she heard him until she lifted her head and gazed up at him with wide, grateful eyes. "Thank you, Peter," she breathed before she was led away, and the warmth on her face made him feel ten feet tall.

*****

Winston stared at the jabbering wreck who had once been Reynard and discovered he only felt mild disgust. There was no blaze of triumph, no sense of revenge, just the realization that what had happened had been necessary. He felt bad about Janine, but he knew in his head that Janine's shooting hadn't been his fault. He didn't know it quite so well in his heart, but he would come to know it as she recovered.

So he stood studying at Reynard, conscious of Nick and Cody beside him. Then he turned to the ghostly form of Doug Hemphill. "Thanks, m'man," he said softly. "We really needed you."

"You called that right," Nick agreed. "I didn't even believe in ghosts until all this happened, but you were on our side all the way." He hesitated, clearly remembering shaking hands with Slimer, then he stuck out his hand, and Hemphill took it. Relief ran across Nick's face as he realized not all ghosts dripped as Slimer did.

"Thanks, Nick," Doug said in a perfectly normal voice. "And Cody." He shook hands with the blond detective. "I'm glad you three called me here."

"Closure," Peter said, joining them. "You needed that, didn't you, pal?"

Hemphill looked past the three he'd escaped with in Vietnam to the distant, glorious vistas only he could see, and nodded. "I can...go now," he said, and abruptly did. No fade out, just a disappearance.

"What happened to him?" asked Murray, wide eyed.

Ray grinned like a little kid. "He dispersed peacefully," he explained. "When a ghost dies a violent death, it will often linger until it can find a way to make peace, or to finish what was left undone. I guess we thought warning Winston was enough but it couldn't have been. This time it was final. He stopped Reynard. He had to be the one to do it, or he'd still be...out there somewhere." He made a vague, comprehensive gesture to include the entire world.

"So you're saying we helped him?" Cody asked.

Ray nodded eagerly. "The three of you helped him find peace. I think it's really great."

"Yeah, it's boss and bodacious," Murray agreed.

"And all of us think so," Peter said, nudging Egon with his elbow. "Don't we, Spengs?"

Egon hesitated, and Winston realized he was remembering Janine. Then he heaved a sigh and nodded. "I'm glad he found peace," he said. "But Reynard..." He turned toward the ex-operative, then he stopped, hesitating. Winston followed his gaze.

Reynard's eyes were glazed and blank, and spittle trailed from the corner of his mouth. He was shaking convulsively and he seemed unaware of the questions Michael and the police were directing at him. He might come out of it with treatment, he might even wake up alert in the morning, but he was so far out of it right now, he was hardly on the same planet as the rest of them. The haunting had turned him from an enemy to an object of pity, and with that realization, the hardness left Winston's heart and all the grief, anger, and guilt he'd been feeling over what had happened to Janine melted away. Abruptly he felt shaky.

He turned abruptly, only to find Peter at his side. Venkman always knew when one of his buddies needed him, needed the psychologist, needed someone who understood.

"Can't hate him any longer, can you?" Peter said softly. "It's all right, Winston. You don't have to. Janine's gonna be okay. And if I know the lady--and I can confidently say I do, being an expert in all matters relating to the opposite sex--she'd cream you hard if she thought you were blaming yourself for even one second."

Winston gave a rather watery chuckle. His eyes burned, but he blinked the unshed tears away. "I know you're right, homeboy," he told Peter. "Guess I just need you to remind me every now and then."

"Will do. And I have cheap rates for family," Peter said with a crooked grin.

The word 'family' was perfectly timed. Grateful for hearing stated what was always true and no less so for being rarely mentioned, it also reminded Winston of another complication. "Oh, man, if my Dad and Mom hear about this, they're gonna just _kill_ me."

Peter grinned and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "You can call them in the morning. Do you have any idea how late it is right now? Little Petey Venkman is gonna sleep late in the morning. And if _anyone_ \--and that means you, Egon--tries to wake me up before noon, I'm gonna send Slimer after you."

Winston grinned. How good Peter was at returning them to normal as painlessly as possible. And yet Peter knew this particular situation would tend to have aftereffects; every time they passed Janine's empty desk until she was well enough to come home. But Winston also knew that he was part of a family at Ghostbuster Central and that the family would handle it together. He thought that would be enough. In fact, he thought it would be exactly what the doctor ordered.

*****

Nick emerged from the bathroom on the third floor of Ghostbuster Central, trying in vain to smother a big yawn. "Your turn, Cody," he told his best friend, noticing him leaning against the railing, his eyes closed. He may have been asleep on his feet, because he started, glanced around wildly, and nearly stumbled.

Egon Spengler, passing through the hall from the lab to the dormitory, shot out a long arm and caught Cody by the shoulder. "Please, gentlemen," he said. "Our insurance rates are high enough without one of you tumbling down the stairs." He was wearing a nightshirt and managed to seem so natural and at home in an article of attire that Nick wouldn't wear without major torture that he shook his head and grinned.

The Riptide detectives had decided to stay over in New York for a few days. They'd wrapped up their current case right before Winston had phoned them and might as well play tourist before they returned to California, so Peter had offered to put them up for the night. The Ghostbusters' spare room had only one bed, and Nick and Cody had unanimously assigned it to Murray after his kidnapping. The doctor at the hospital had checked him out before they'd left and assured them that Reynard had given him nothing worse than a couple of doses of a mild tranquilizer and it was already working out of his system. He was fine. Two cots had been set up for Nick and Cody.

The two detectives and Winston had spent half an hour right after they arrived home talking on the telephone to a man named Stringfellow Hawke, a name Peter had greeted with astonished glee. He was the brother of their Hawke, the man who had helped them escape from Charlie. Stringfellow still believed his brother was alive over there. Michael had given them the telephone number before he and Marella departed and insisted very firmly that they telephone _his_ Hawke without delay and tell him about their encounter with his brother. Nick had been surprised at the tone of Archangel's voice.

Marella had lingered behind long enough to say, "Stringfellow Hawke is a personal friend of Michael's though neither man will admit it. He'll be relaying your story to him tomorrow, but I think it would be good for Stringfellow to hear from you as soon as possible. I know how late it is, but there's a there's a three hour time difference between here and California. Call him."

"We will," Cody had agreed, and Winston had made the call. Nick wished he could have had more recent news for the younger Hawke brother, but Stringfellow Hawke's gruff voice had displayed evidence of gladness at any word of his brother, no matter how old the news. Ryder was glad they'd made the call.

"Don't fall asleep under the shower, man," Nick told Cody now. "You'd probably drown and Egon would yell at me for raising the insurance rates."

Egon lifted one eyebrow just exactly like Mr. Spock, smiled vaguely, and went into the dormitory. As Cody entered the bathroom expressing the forlorn hope that as low man on the totem pole, or the unlucky one in the drawing of straws, that he'd have hot water, Nick edged over and looked in on the Ghostbusters.

Peter was already asleep. He had probably fallen face down on his pillow and gone out like a light; already he was fathoms deep, a faint smile curling his mouth. Probably remembering that pretty nurse and that thousand watt smile she'd given him, the lucky dog. Nick hadn't liked Venkman much at first and he still wasn't entirely sure about him. The weird experience of summoning up Doug's ghost had made him realize Peter's defense of his profession had been right, not that it didn't annoy Nick to be put in the wrong. Peter would always irritate him, but he'd picked up a realization in their time together. Peter reminded Nick of himself. There was the quick temper, the ability to swap moods at the flick of a switch, the inner man that only a chosen few ever saw. If Peter's path to the ideal friendships he shared now was as rocky as Nick's had been, then he'd come through a lot. Nick respected the hell out of him, but wasn't sure they'd ever be buddies. Maybe they were just too much alike.

Ray, who was talking earnestly to Egon, complete with excited gestures, reminded Nick in many ways of Murray. The quick mind, the childlike enthusiasms; he'd seen Ray and Murray chortling over a comic book earlier while they waited for their turns in the shower. Maybe every good team needed a member who was that full of the joy of living just to keep life from bogging down.

Winston reminded Nick of Cody in that he was completely reliable, honorable, who would watch his friends' backs, who would never in a million years let a friend down. He'd been feeling bad over Janine because he halfway believed he _had_ let a friend down, but he couldn't have stopped that. Not like Nick himself....

He pushed that thought away and regarded Egon, who was preparing to go to bed, gradually calming Ray with well-chosen words. Egon was as brilliant as Murray, though in a totally different field. But aside from the intellect, they weren't alike. In fact Egon was the one that was different, when comparing the two teams. Nick tried to imagine an Egon on his team. Maybe, given the different circumstances, they didn't need an Egon, though the Ghostbusters needed him completely. Nick had a good idea of friendship dynamics because he was lucky enough to have two of the best friends known to man, and he had pegged Egon right away as Peter's rock, the center and steadying place of his life, the way Cody was Nick's.

_Guys like us, like Peter and me, we need a steadying place,_ Nick thought wryly--and gratefully. He had his center, Cody, and the Boz, too. One thing this whole experience had proven to him was that what he needed so much from his friends was a universal need. It was just that the Riptide detectives and the Ghostbusters had been lucky enough to get the best.

"Night, guys," Nick called and headed downstairs to the second floor, hearing their responses and, in Peter's case, a snore. Nick grinned.

He found Murray in the guest bedroom, already in his pajamas, sitting in bed, reading a weighty tome that he'd probably picked up from the Ghostbusters' library. "Hey, Nick, this is really boss," he greeted, gesturing with the book. It was so heavy it tugged at his hands, but he didn't mind. "This is _Tobin's Spirit Guide_. It's full of all sorts of neato information about ghosts and demons and other weird kinds of things."

"Not my idea of light bedtime reading, Boz," Nick said, then he braced himself and forced the words out. "Murray, I'm sorry." He went over and sat on the edge of the bed, grasping his friend by the shoulders. "I should have insisted you stay behind. I caused you to be kidnapped; you wound up paying my old debts and nearly getting killed for it. If anything had happened to you...."

"Whoa!" cried Murray, grabbing hold of his wrists to keep him from letting go. "Stop it, Nick! We've already been through this before. You said it yourself. We're the kind of friends who don't need to do this. Remember? I was trying to apologize because I'd got mad when I thought you were stealing my girlfriend, only she wasn't really my girlfriend, and you said..."

"I remember," Nick said, feeling a surge of warmth inside him at Murray's words. "But you didn't almost get me killed. You were just mad at me."

Murray hesitated. "Come on, Nick, it doesn't work by degree. It's true all the time, no matter what the situation. You know it is. We're friends. What kind of friend would I be if I'd gone off to Silicon Valley to play with computers while you and Cody went into danger?" He grew solemn. "Either I'm a full member of the team and I take the same risks you do, or I'm your sidekick, your comic relief, okay to have around when it's safe, then shipped off like putting the women and kids in the lifeboats first." His shoulders slumped. "You and Cody are like brothers to me, Nick. If you hadn't let me come, I'd have come on my own anyway. I had the right to come." He added hopefully, "Didn't I?" And in his eyes Nick saw the need to belong, to be a part of the partnership, to feel certain of his real value.

"Oh, god, Murray, of course you did," Nick cried, realizing what he'd been doing. "I'm just being self-indulgent. I was scared silly when you were grabbed. Yes, I wanted to protect you, but I'd have felt the same if it had been Cody who was snatched. You're an equal partner. So none of this sidekick nonsense." He felt absolved, though Murray hadn't believed he needed absolution. "Besides," he added, giving Murray a light shake, "you escaped on your own. You rescued yourself. There wasn't any need to worry about _you_. You're a guy I'd trust to watch my back any day of the week."

He felt Murray's shoulders straighten under his grip, and a dazzling smile lit the computer expert's face. Realizing how close his guilt had come to taking away that kind of expression, Nick gave himself a quick mental kick and forced himself to put the guilt behind him.

"Wasn't it great?" Murray exulted. "Meeting ghosts and working with spies--that Marella has a lot of Ph.D's, did you know that? We had a long talk; she's a really smart lady. She says she's gonna see if I can do some computer work for the Firm. I was given the clearance when I did that preliminary computer stuff for that Starbright project six months ago. And the neatest part is I can do all my work on the Riptide; I don't have to go to Langley."

"That's great, Boz. Guess they can tell what you're worth. There isn't any hint of romance between you and Marella, is there?"

Murray's face flamed. "Of course not," he denied, but Nick could tell he was slightly smitten anyway. Not enough to do him any permanent damage if it wasn't reciprocated, but what the heck, his Boz would be a good catch for any woman, especially a smart one.

"So are we okay on this, Nick?" Murray asked quickly before Nick could tease him about Marella. "A team? Equal partners? No more guilt stuff?"

"You called it, man," Nick told him. "No more guilt."

He heard familiar footsteps behind him and Cody said, "That goes double for me, guys," and stopped at Nick's back, draping his arm around Ryder's shoulder.

Nick leaned into the circle of Cody's arm, one hand still gripping Murray's shoulder, and thought it didn't get much better than this.

*****

"Typical," muttered Janine Melnitz to herself. She'd had the doctor come in to check the dressing on her wound and had noticed it was just above the bikini line. She'd have to buy a new bathing suit. Either that or be the target of a lot of speculative stares on the beach. Would guys think it was cool to date a woman with a bullet wound? Would Egon fuss if he saw it? He'd better fuss! If she played her cards right, he'd fuss enough to take her out for dinner and dancing when she was on her feet. Get him on a dance floor, herself in his arms and who could say what would happen next?

The painkiller in her IV kept the pain to a dull roar; she was fine with it. The doctor had said she'd been really lucky, only a little muscle and tissue damage, no vital organs touched. It hurt, of course, and had hurt even worse when he'd been poking around with his great, clumsy fingers. Janine's mom, who had stopped by first thing, had railed at him for it, fussing over her 'baby' and generally embarrassing Janine utterly. But she'd been glad to have her mom come by.

Ma would have stayed all day, but Janine told her she was doing fine and wanted to rest, and Ma promised to return that evening and bring the family.

_Just what I need. Relapse city,_ thought Janine wryly.

A movement in the doorway made her turn her head. Peter Venkman stood there, a big bouquet of red roses in his hands. There must have been three dozen of them; Janine couldn't remember seeing so many roses at one time before. Peter stuck them out at her cautiously. "Safe to come in?" he asked. "You won't beat us about the head and shoulders with your IV stand for getting you in trouble?"

She pretended to ponder it. "I don't know, Dr. V. Beating you about the head and shoulders with an IV stand has a universal appeal."

His face lit up, and he gestured behind him enthusiastically. "Come on, team. She's not mad at us."

"Just at you, Peter, and that's par for the course," she told him, looking past him for Egon. The physicist came in next, such a hangdog expression on his face that it was all she could do to lie there passively and not jump up and run to him.

But things got better and better. _He_ ran to _her_ , pausing only long enough to grab the roses out of Peter's arms and bring them along. The astonishment on Peter's face was priceless but Janine forgot it as Egon arrived at her bedside and said, "I brought you flowers." Look at him, his face was red. This was _very_ promising. Even better, he bent down, squishing a few of the roses in the process, and gave her a light kiss. Not exactly a show stopper, but it was on her mouth, and that was worth a lot more than a few squished roses.

"Oh, Egon, they're beautiful. I suppose it was Peter's idea to use them for a white flag." What she really supposed was that it was Peter's idea to buy them. He was an expert in the art of 'flower power' with regard to the many women in his life. Egon would have wanted to rush to her side, but he would have forgotten flowers. He always did.

"You bet it was," Peter said. "Gosh, Janine, you could have been ready to blow us off. We take you on a bust and see what happens."

Winston came in rather timidly, completely unlike him. Winston was never timid. Holding tight to Egon's hand so he wouldn't back off, Janine offered her other hand to Winston. "Peter, take the roses and find a vase for them," she instructed. "Winston, come here."

"Funny how everybody always makes me fetch and carry," Peter complained, but good-humoredly. He retrieved the roses before Egon could drop them. Fussing over the crushed ones, he retreated, muttering to himself.

Janine grabbed Winston's hand, and Egon, understanding, shifted his position slightly, but not far enough to let go. She noticed he still held one rose.

"It's not your fault," Janine said, blunt and to the point. She knew she was going to be tired easily, so now, when the painkiller was fresh and she was all buoyed up by Egon's kiss, she needed to say it. "Not your fault at all, and if you even _try_ to tell me it was, you're fired!"

"And she doesn't make idle threats," called Peter from the doorway. In the last few seconds he'd found a huge vase. Maybe they had it with them all along. "So listen up, Winston. Before I start to feel _real_ hurt that you didn't believe it when _I_ told you that last night." He stuffed the flowers into the bowl with greater determination than grace, and yanked Ray into the room. Ray was wearing a hospital mask because of his cold, and his eyes were worried as they fell on Janine.

"Not you, too," she burst out in frustration. "Guys. In the words of Richard Nixon, let me make something _perfectly_ clear. I _chose_ to go on the bust. You think I go through agonies of guilt when you come home with one of you in the hospital because I didn't go? Where are your brains? Ray, I told Winston and I'm telling you. No blame. Now if I could find a way to blame Dr. Venkman here, that would be different, but even he is absolutely blameless."

Peter preened himself unbearably. Janine eyed him with a thoughtful expression in her eyes.

"Uh oh, I'm in big trouble," Peter said. "Come on, Janine, I _know_ I'm not to blame."

"Not for this," she said with a cautious gesture at her aching side. "For being what you are, yes."

Peter's grin flashed out. "Wonderful, aren't I?"

"Shut up, Venkman," said a strange voice and three men came into the room. The speaker was a very nicely built dark haired man, cute, too, and he obviously had Peter's number. Next to him was a gorgeous blond with a great mustache and a great smile--Janine had always been a sucker for blond men--and another guy who was cute in a geeky way.

"And here I thought I was lucky; I just had to listen to the other guys and Janine," Peter said. "Now I've got you on my case, Ryder."

"Janine, these are the Riptide detectives," Egon said. "We're not staying because the doctor has threatened us with grave bodily harm if we tire you, but they wanted to meet you."

"Yeah, to see if all the things Peter said about you were true," said the geeky guy, winning a hasty elbow from the blond man.

"That's it, Dr. V, you're on my death list," Janine snapped, eyes alight with amusement.

"Gosh, they _are_ true," the guy said.

Egon performed the introductions: Winston's Vietnam buddies Nick--the one who had told Peter to shut up, bless him--Cody, he of the classic blond appearance, and finally their third partner, Murray, with a piece of tape around the bow of his glasses and his pocket full of pens in a plastic holder.

"We didn't come by to disturb you," Cody told her. "But these guys wouldn't unwind unless they could see you first."

"They better not be able to," Janine said. She gazed up at Egon, feeling the fatigue beginning to set in.

He saw it at once. "We've stayed long enough. I shall be back later this afternoon, Janine."

"We all will," Peter promised.

"That's right, Dr. V, make my day," Janine grumbled, but when Peter edged up and gave her a big buss on the cheek, she let go of Winston's hand and clutched at Peter's. "Make sure Egon's okay," she whispered. "I know I don't have to ask you to do that."

"Janine, my word of honor." He gave her another kiss, this time a big one right on the mouth, then drew away with the air of a man who has just scored the winning touchdown.

"You can kill him any time, Egon," Janine told the physicist, but inwardly she shook her head. Being shot was making her sappy, but she was really glad Peter was there for all of them.

Winston bent and kissed her too. "Lady, you get well fast," he said. "Because I have this horrible feeling Peter will be turned loose on your computer."

"A perfect incentive."

"I can't come over there, Janine," Ray told her. "But gosh, I hope you're okay."

She blew him a kiss.

Egon bent down and kissed her again, then he took the single rose he was holding and curled her fingers around it. Then he said three words that set her heart singing. Not, 'I love you,' not yet, but "I'll miss you." For now that was enough.

Everyone chorused a farewell and hurried out just as a nurse came by and started to make shooing noises at them. She heard them in the hallway, all seven of them, arguing with the nurse, planning the rest of their day, and they sounded like schoolboys granted an unexpected holiday. _Men_ , she thought with fond exasperation. _Can't paper train 'em, can't leave 'em alone for a minute._ "Hmm," she said aloud. "I wonder if those detective guys have a secretary. They have to. They're probably babes in the woods just like my guys. If they don't, I'll have to call Cousin Becky out in Los Angeles. She'd be perfect for the job."


End file.
